The Sorcerer's Pet Rock
by Dirk-Steadfast
Summary: A different perspective on Harry's first year at Hogwarts. That perspective being one of an Idiot's. Don't expect any of the characters to act as they did in the books, movies, or your fantasies. Read and/or review (we know you're super swamped sometimes).
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is the first chapter in an epic Ol' Bob and I wrote. Unlike most of our stories there will be more than one chapter. Like most of our stories, you probably won't like it, so really there's no big surprise.**

CHAPTER I—Irrelevant Backstory

The winds blew softly, tickling the long, flowing beard of an old man shuffling down the street. He was a calm looking fellow, with half-moon spectacles, a large pointy hat and the air of a man who knew things, and then subsequently forgot things. In his hand was a strange-looking device, sleek, tubular, a rounded top and two spherical attachments located at the bottom. All in all, it looked utterly useless. The elderly fellow pointed the device towards a harmless streetlamp, then the man stroked the object in a unique fashion. A peculiar thing then occurred. The light of the lamp shuddered then blinked out like someone had just stepped on its heart. The gentleman then faced the next lamp and repeated the process, something rather difficult for some men, but the strange man showed no signs of stopping.

Once all the streetlamps were thoroughly extinguished, the old man waited in the dark in front of Number 123 Royale Court, in Little Northhamptshireton Village, Surrey. The man waited for a time, forgot why he had come, and began ambling northwest, his gaze following the brightest star. It was then he realized that it was not a star, but in fact a flying motorcycle (a mistake made by the man not uncommon amongst seasoned astronomers). As the flying motorbike descended, the gusts from its exhaust ruffled the man's beard which was the color of dirty, under-the-car snow. When the bike pulled to a stop several metres in front of the old man, a giant—a veritable giant!-sprung off the bike with a gusto unassociated with his size. In his meaty arms, he carried a bundle of meat. Bundled within the meat was a tiny baby. The baby had on tiny glasses, a crop of misbehaving black hair and, most ominously, a scar in the shape of letters that spelled "VOLDEMORT" on his forebrow.

"Ev'nin' Professor Dumbledore," said the giant, unwrapping the infant from the layers of meat.

"Dear Satan, Hagrid!" responded Professor Dumbledore. "I didn't know you had a child!"

"'E's not mine, Professor Dumbledore! This is _the_ boy, the Boy Who Didn't Die! You told me to bring him 'ere." Hargid handed the child to Dumbledore.

"Yes, a fine specimen indeed!" Dumbledore exclaimed. He began to wander off with the baby, whistling a merry tune.

"Wait!" shouted a cat, who had appeared from out of a nearby shrubbery. Both Dumbledore and Hagrid eyed the verbose feline with active amazement. Before their eyes, the cat turned into a woman, and then into an older woman. She had auburn hair (clearly dyed) and a posture that suggested she would accept no late assignments.

"Good evening, Professor McGonagal," said Dumbledore, walking back towards Hagrid. "I had forgotten you could do that."

McGonagal approached her two compatriots, and the baby. "I'm surprised you haven't forgotten how to put your robe on straight."

"Hagrid helped me,"

Hagrid buried his face in one of his gargantuan hands.

Once again, Dumbledore began shambling off into the darkness.

"Wait, Professor! The baby," cried McGonagal.

"Huh! What baby?"

"The one in your arms!"

"Oh yes!" Dumbledore then placed the child on the ground and resumed his impromptu journey.

Hagrid, taking initiative, scooped up the baby and walked towards the door of Number 123 Royale Court, in Northhamptshireton Village, Surrey. Dumbledore, like so many a t-rex before him, was attracted to the motion and followed along. After the giant placed the boy onto the steps, Dumbledore looked between his two companions and remarked, "I feel like a stork," he then began rubbing his belly in soft fluid motions, "I think it's high time I had a child of my own." These remarks were met by condescending accolades by both Hagrid and McGonagal, followed by the ushering of Dumbledore off of the property.

" 're you sure i's alright to leave Harry there like that?" Hagrid asked.

"Listen," Dumbledore said, "I've lived a long life—longer than you'll ever live—and in that time I've learned that, on average, people are pretty swell."

"But, Professor," McGonagal interjected, "I've watched these Muggles, and they are simply horrid! Honestly, I don't know how the fat one mates with the thin one!"

"Their mating aside, they are the only family he has. Besides, everyone loves all their relatives, all the time."

"But this boy will be famous! Everyone in our world will know of him! Merlin's Moustache, Albus, there will action figures of him, and a musical!"

"I know. But it will be better for young Harry to grow up away from all the fame and the attention..." Dumbledore then added as an afterthought, "And the love."

Together, the three strode away in solemn unanimity.

The next morning, Vernon Dursely went out to fetch the morning paper, and instead discovered a baby on his steps. Resting on the baby's blanket was a small note that read, "Hi! My name is Harry Potter (your name here). Please treat me well."

"Great," Dursely grumbled. "It's going to be one of those days." Vernon Dursely crumpled the card and threw it away. He debated throwing out the baby as well.

**A/N: You're probably wondering why Hagrid carries Harry in a satchel of meat. It's a funny story. **

**See you next time.**


	2. Chap 2

**A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed. Please do it again sometime. Hopefully this chapter will get you to read the one that'll come next, and the one that'll come nexter, and even nexter.**

CHAPTER II—In Which There Is A Zoo, Also Letters That Have No Address With Which To Be Returned

The best moments of young Harry Potter's life were the ones he could not remember. Since he had been left at his Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia's doorstep almost eleven years ago, Harry's life in that home was one of cruelty, maltreatment and the occasional vacation of neglect.

Vernon Dursely, a paunchy, flatulent man, was the alpha-male of 123 Royale Court, Little Northhamptshireton Village, Surrey. On those occasions where Vernon did not pretend Harry did not exist, he used the boy to mop floors, scrub dishes, and turn him over when he got bedsores. He was indeed a cruel sire.

The rest of the family was no picnic in Picadilly Square, either. Harry's aunt, Petunia, had all the features of an ostrich, except for the wings and the succulent meat/soul. Her face would pinch into a sour visage while standing over Harry, even as he continued polishing the same bathroom tile for the 5th time that afternoon. She would often send Harry back to the armoire in which he lived without supper. Then there was Dudley, Harry's paunchy, flatulent cousin of the same age. If ever there was a boy on Father Christmas's Naughty List, it was Dudley.

One morning in July, Harry awoke from a wonderful dream in which he had eaten his fill of supper and then promptly died. He gazed around the interior of his armoire, the home his uncle and aunt had generously made for him instead of turning it into kindling. Harry had fit a surprising amount of boyish gaiety into this tiny space. There was a nail to play with, and a pet spider named Snickers. Harry wanted for nothing, except freedom. When he realized what day it was, Harry let out a groan of despair.

"Bugger me," Harry said to Snickers. "It's Dudley's birthday today." The spider rubbed together its forelegs and retreated to the shadows. "Some beacon of moral support you are!" Harry shouted. He reluctantly hopped out of the armoire and got to making breakfast.

The happiest day of the year for Dudley was always the most miserable for Harry. On normal days, Dudley was spiteful, ungrateful, rude and arrogant, all at the same time. But, on his birthday, he was all of these things with the added caveat of receiving everything he wanted. Dudley was showered with gifts on his birthday; the greatest present Harry had ever received on his birthday was a "Get Out of Jail Free" card from _Monopoly_, which his uncle assured him could stay a single beating from one of his guardians...The deal was not upheld.

Just as Harry placed the silverware next to the plates filled with kippers, bangers and mash, Uncle Vernon lumbered down the stairs and sat in his regular chair at the breakfast table, which was two sizes too big for an average man. Vernon ignored Harry and began gobbling the food loudly. Soon, Aunt Petunia and Dudley came down to breakfast. Harry was required to serve as a footstool for Dudley to use to ascend his birthday chair.

From his chair, Dudley smiled and surveyed the pile of gifts in the living room that were bequeathed unto him. "Mother!" he said, "Last year there were forty-eight gifts, and this year there is still forty-eight gifts! As my age increases, so should the number of gifts I receive!" Dudley flung his utensils across the room. "Now pick those up, Henry!" Dudley shouted at Harry.

"My name's Harry," Harry mumbled.

"WHAT?!" roared Dudley.

"Nothing, my liege," Harry answered, and replaced the thrown utensils with newer, shinier ones.

Aunt Petunia rushed over to Dudley and smothered him with kisses. Harry remembered the last thing he had been smothered with was a pillow.

"Now, now Dudley-kins-poppet!" cooed Aunt Petunia, "We're taking you to the zoo today! We're going to buy you a chimp, which is easily worth five gifts."

"I'll be the judge of that," Dudley said. He gestured at Harry: "Does Potley have to go?"

"It's Potter," Harry whispered.

"Shut your mouth!" Dudley launched his fork at Harry, narrowly missing the boy's already scarred forehead.

"Yes, he does, Dudley," said Vernon. "We don't get those child support checks unless he's seen in the sunlight every now and then."

"Fine," Dudley said, rolling his eyes. "But I still want to drive by the orphanage and show them all the presents I got."

As they loaded up the family car, Uncle Vernon took Harry aside and said, "I'm warning you, boy, you do anything that breaches the realm of reason, and I'll make sure you never see Snickers again. Get in!" He pushed Harry into the car. Vernon's warning to Harry was not uncredited. On rare occasions, Harry had shown the ability to defy phenomenal reality if he was angered or frightened. One of Harry's most fond memories that he could remember was of when he was eight years old: Harry, smitten with jealousy, watched as Dudley's brand new red bicycle was transformed into a brand new red bison. Harry never said anything, but he had been sure that he himself was the cause of this abrupt transfiguration.

After circling the orphanage the appropriate number of times, Vernon parked the car in the lot outside the zoo. Together, the four entered the zoo and visited many attractions, finally ending up at the Reptile House. Dudley threw the remainder of his third ice-cream cone at a snake that lay lazily in a sunken pen. "Move!" he shouted.

"Stop bothering him! He can't understand English!" Harry protested.

Dudley would have responded, but he began to hunger for a fourth ice-cream cone. He and his parents moved away, leaving Harry alone with the serpent.

"Don't mind my cousin. He's an idiot," Harry told the snake. Yards below, the creature lifted its scaly head and seemed to acknowledge the boy.

Harry was dumbfounded. "Do you...understand my words?"

The snake moved its head to the side, gesturing at the the sign which read "PLEASE DO NOT DISTURB THE ANIMALS."

Harry, who had the education of a well-rounded badger with vocal chords, could not understand the sign. "Were you raised in captivity? That's me as well. I never knew my parents. Some bears got to them first. Do you like talking to me? I like talking to you. Are we friends now?..."

The snake began banging its head against the glass in an effort to induce unconsciousness.

Harry was suddenly shoved to the ground and heard his cousin's voice: "Look Mum! The snake's doing something!" Dudley's sudden intrigue was interrupted by the protective glass over the snake pen vanishing. Dudley tumbled over the railing, into the pit.

The snake slithered away from Harry's now moist cousin (Dudley had fallen into the snake's water supply, and also voided his bladder). The snake made its way up and over the railing and exited, like so many Shakespearean actors. Even as cries of fear echoed from outside the Casa de Reptiles, Harry giggled to himself.

The giggling ceased once Harry was returned home and Uncle Vernon grasped Harry's shirt collar and yelled, "What happened?!" Dudley was whisked upstairs by Aunt Petunia as Uncle Vernon demanded an explanation from Harry.

"I swear I don't know!" Harry said. "The glass just vanished!"

"THERE'S NO SUCH THING AS MAGIC!"

"I didn't say magic," whined Harry.

"Go to your armoire!" Vernon personally escorted Harry to his cramped living quarters and shoved the lad inside. Harry received no supper that night and the only thing that kept Vernon from padlocking Harry in was Vernon's poorly organized tool shack.

The next day, as Harry went to retrieve the mail from the slot, a letter with a crimson wax seal caught his eye. Harry could merely gawp at the heading of the letter:

Harry James Potter

Armoire adjacent Rumpus Room

123 Royale Court

Little Northhamptshireton Village, Surrey

Currently Picking Nose in Front Hall

Harry removed his finger from his right nostril in terror. Despite his poor education, Harry knew of enough to recognize the squiggles and lines which constituted his name. He had never, _never _received mail before, and certainly not mail so specific! The closest he had gotten to getting mail was one time in which Dudley smacked him on the nose with the rotund boy's monthly issue of _Diet for Fatties_. The letter had no return address. Harry flipped it over and looked at the seal again. It felt waxy and malleable, with a large "H" in the center and four animals surrounding the regal, lonely symbol.

Harry handed the mail to his uncle in the kitchen, all of it except for the letter addressed to him. Vernon sifted through his own mail, but Dudley's piggish eyes followed Harry. The corpulent child snatched the letter from Harry whilst exclaiming, "Lookie here, Papa, Harry's got a letter!" The fatty ran back to the breakfast nook and handed the correspondence to the larger fatty.

"Give that back, you gelatinous fool! It's mine!"

"Yours?" Uncle Vernon chuckled. "Ridiculous! Who would care to learn your name?" Vernon's face went from firetruck red to tapioca white and then back to red again when his eyes fell upon the letter's seal. He looked at Harry, then Petunia, then Dudley, then the plate of bacon, then Petunia once more. He pocketed the letter and said to Harry, "Never mention this again." He left the table with a strip of bacon. Harry was furious, as furious as a 70-lbs eleven-year-old could be. But alas, he could do nothing.

Much to Vernon's dismay the letters did not stop after that, but continued to arrive each day. Nothing the Dursleys did could prevent the onslaught of unidentified parcels, the number of which increased exponentially as the days went by. Vernon boarded up the mail slot and screamed at the postman. Nothing seemed to work. Also, to Harry's surprise, the number of owls that roosted on the Dursley's property shot up from zero to a number much higher than zero. Only Harry suspected that the letters and the birds correlated, while Vernon simply kept muttering on about Alfred Hitchcock. Finally, on a particularly dreary Sunday in which Vernon discovered a letter crudely folded into his sandwich between the layers of ham and bacon, he shouted throughout the whole household, "WE'RE MOVING AWAY! NO MORE BLASTED LETTERS!"

**A/N: Flames are appreciated, compliments are considered.**


	3. Chappy 3

**A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed! You are the cream in my coffee, which I don't drink, but Ol' Bob does, with a vigor. A special thanks to LooneyLuna for going through our profile and reading just about every story we wrote. She has now been officially dubbed # 1 fan, and anyone wishing to take that title must arm wrestle her for it. And a specialer thanks to the Guest reviewer on our other story "Once Upon A Summer's Day I Missed My Train." It seriously made our day to read. And we'll try to go on without your support.**

Chapter the Third—Is That An Umbrella In Your Pocket Or Are You Just Happy I'm The Chosen One?

Uncle Vernon's solution to the letter problem was to mimic the defense mechanism of the mighty shrew, which is to say "Go where bad things are not happening."

"Dad's gone mad," Dudley said, unpacking his favorite fondue pot. The whole family had relocated to a shack that Vernon had rented. It was located on a glorified rock just off the coast of somewhere they were sure they would never be found: Ireland.

"Your father's just going through an eccentric time in his life," Petunia said.

"I don't understand why he won't just let me read the letter," Harry said.

"Shut your mouth!" Vernon oinked, brandishing his newly purchased shotgun. "Good news family! The Irish are too drunk to deliver mail!" With that he ordered the family to bed, as the sun had begun to set.

Harry couldn't sleep, partly because he was on the cold cement floor, but mostly because midnight had passed, and it was now his birthday. "Happy birthday...to me," Harry sang.

No sooner had the final note of Harry's ballad of woe warbled into the night when a thunderous "_Ding!_"came crashing through the small hut. . . the "dong" was broken.

Harry held his breath for a silent moment, wondering if it was sweet, merciful Death come to rid him of his putrid life. Vernon had woken up and was now plodding down the stairs, toting the shotgun. "Whoever you are," yelled he, "be warned that any form of postage breaching that door frame is getting gunned down!" Heedless of this threat, the door was removed from its hinges.

Where the door had until recently been now stood the silhouette of a gargantuan man, nearly three metres tall! The giant eyed the family with little concern, "Hey," said he, "Sorry 'bout wrecking your door, but in my defense it was in the way."

"Get out of here this instant!" yelled Vernon, raising his shotgun to eye level.

"You'll poke yer eye out with that!" yelled the larger man as he took the weapon and twisted it into a giraffe. Uncle Vernon gaped.

The commotion had heralded Petunia and Dudley to the front room, "What's going on here?" they inquired.

"You, pork-rind," said Hagrid, gesturing towards Dudley, "You Harry?" Dudley shook his head no, his jowls finishing after his neck.

"I'm Harry," came a voice from under the door, "you crushed me on your way in."

"Geez! What are you doin' under there, lad?"

"I didn't want to be a bother," Harry said weakly.

Hagrid pulled the boy out from underneath the door, "Well I've got somethin' that'll make you feel right as rain!" The giant then pulled from one of his many pockets a small box containing an even smaller cake on which was written, "Happy Berthday Hary!"

Grammar aside, Harry was delighted, being as it was the first gift the boy had ever received. "Thank you!" Harry exclaimed. "But…why are you here?"

"It's a little nippy in here!" Hagrid said, and moved to the fire place.

"It's a shed on top of a pile of rocks, by the ocean," Harry said.

But Hagrid was no longer paying attention. He was preoccupied with lighting a fire from the tip of his umbrella, which he was wont to do. As he stoked the flames, Harry repeated his question:

"Why are you here…chum?"

Hagrid turned to face the boy. He patted his knee and said, "Have a seat on my lap, m'boy."

"I'd really rather not."

"Do it now."

"Righto." Hagrid scooped up the boy and sat on the sofa. Once Harry was settled in the soft, pillowy flesh of the giant-man, Hagrid said, "My name is Hagrid. Rubeus Hagrid. Keeper of the Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts! But o' course you know all about Hogwarts!"

Harry tilted his head to indicate his befuddlement. "Hog what?"

"Blimey, Harry! You tellin' me these two dingles"—he gestured to Vernon and Petunia—"never told you about your parents?!"

"Well," Harry said, "They did mention once, in passing, that they had been eaten whole by ravenous bears."

"BEARS?!" Hagrid shouted. "Bears killed Lily and James Potter?! There are no bears in England!"

"We had to tell him something," Petunia murmured.

"You coulda told him something less stupid," Hagrid replied. He looked at Harry and said "Harry, it's time you know that your parents were viciously murdered by a force more terrible than you can imagine."

Harry considered this and said "…was it AIDS?"

"AIDS personified!" Hagrid said. "But we'll talk about that later. Right now, I want to know if you've ever made anything happen, anything you couldn't explain. Maybe when you were scared or angry…or happy?...No?...Okay, just the first two."

"Well, I've talked to a spider and a snake before. I can't explain that. Also, I think I turned a bicycle into a bison once. Do these count?"

Hagrid raised a bushy eyebrow. "Indeed they do, lad. _Indeed they do._" Hagrid paused and, very dramatically, grunted: "You're a wizard, Harry."

Harry blinked….a lot. "I'm…I'm a what?"

Hagrid yelled in his face. "I SAID A WIZARD! Didn't you hear me?! And you'll be a great wizard, probably." Hagrid then produced a letter—the very same letter that had hounded the Dursley's to this God-forsaken rock!—and handed it to the boy.

"He shan't be going!" Vernon shouted. "We swore when we took him in we would beat the magic sparkle right out of his eye!"

"Oh," Hagrid said, thumping his umbrella against Vernon's meaty chest, "And I suppose a great Muggle like yourself is gonna stop us, now ain't ya?"

"Muggle?" Harry asked.

"Non-magic folk," Hagrid explained.

Petunia chimed in, "we prefer the magically-impaired."

"I bet you do, Muggle," Hagrid said, then faced Harry. "Go on, Harry. Read."

Harry, fingers trembling, belly quaking with hunger, opened the letter, took in a deep breath and said, "I can't read."

"UHHG! Give it 'ere!" Hagrid took back the letter, and read (aloud):

_"Dear Mr. Potter,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Hogwarts Technical School for Witchcraft and Wizardry. Congratulations on your acceptance, I couldn't be prouder of you, tiger. Why I can remember when you were but a boy, and I could see you had dreamed of this day. But I digress. Please take advantage of the services of Mr. Rubeus Hagrid. Treat him as you would any faithful dog. Why I can remember when I had a dog, and I had to put him down because he acquired magic rabies. But I digress. Being accepted is a great honor, and everyone who's anyone will be there. I'll be there, along with my bird. Why I remember when I was a bird, but that is a story for another day. What I'm getting at here is that you should come to my school, make some friends for a change, have fun, you know, carpe diem and all that. Class begin September first. Be there, or else._

_But I digress,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

_Headmaster of Hogwarts Technical School of Witchcraft and Wizardry"_

"What does he mean by 'or else'? Harry asked.

"Best not to worry about that" Hagrid answered. "Anyway, we best be goin'. Get in the rickety boat."

Harry weighed his options. "I'm not sure I should be going with a complete stranger…"

Hagrid stood in the doorframe. "It's that or stay here the rest of your life."

Harry surveyed his squalid surroundings, his brutal aunt and uncle, and his gluttonous cousin, face-deep in Harry's cake. Hagrid, seeing this, used his umbrella to give the portly boy a pig's tail, thereby making him an outcast to friend and foe alike. The giggles that emanated from Harry's throat convinced him to trust the giant-man, as it was the first time that he had ever laughed, ever.

Ever.

**A/N: EVER!**


	4. Velocichaptor

**A/N: Ol' Bob and I will try to update this story on a bi-weekly schedule. If that plan fails we will try and update it once a week. If that plan falls through we will try and update it once a month. And if that goes to poop then we'll just give up and go home.**

Chapter the Fourth—Magic Things and All Things Magic

Hagrid had promised to take Harry to a place where he could buy all of his magical school supplies. But, as far as Harry could tell, Hagrid had brought him to a pub. The pub was called _The Leaky Cauldron_. Therein, Hagrid was drinking most ardently from the most gigantic flagon of all. More ale could be held in that flagon than a mere man would ever need. In two gulps, Hagrid emptied the vessel and said to Harry, "Don't ever be like me. Drinking is wrong."

"But it looks fun, Hagrid," Harry said. "And I'm real thirsty."

"No time for a drink for now, m'boy," Hagrid replied. "Lots to buy in Diagon Alley!"

"We're going to buy school supplies in an alley?" Harry at this point noticed that dozens of the patrons inside _The Leaky Cauldron _were staring at him in a most befuddled manner. Harry heard inebriated shoutings from the customers, like one drunkard to his compatriot saying, "I don't wanna go over there and ask him in case I'm wrong, but is that Harry Potter?!" This caused a wave of excitement to pass over and through many of the people in the pub. Soon Harry was bombarded with handshakes, pats on the head and various other grabbings.

Out of nowhere, a man in a turban made his way toward Harry and yelled "Ha—Harry P—Potter!" the man stammered. "Can't t—t—tell you how pleased I—I am to meet you!"

"Hello, professor!" Hagrid boomed, shaking the man's hand. "Harry, this is Professor Quirrel. He will be teaching you Defense Against the Dark Arts. He'll teach you how to not get killed by stuff that's already not killed you."

_They let Muslims teach at the school_? Harry thought, but decided not to verbalize this query: one could never be sure how many of Uncle Vernon's prejudices held muster in the world beyond the armoire.

Harry reached to shake Quirrel's hand, but the man withdrew as if some killing curse would be rebounded back at him (which would be a bit plot-heavy for the fourth chapter)."A f—fascinating subject!" Quirrel said to Harry. "N—not that you n—need it, eh Potter?" The man tipped his turban at the two travelers and disappeared.

"Was his turban whispering?" Harry asked.

"No, Harry, you're just drunk," Hagrid said and belched.

He led Harry through a back door which opened upon a room; in this room, towards the back, was a wall of bricks. It was to this wall that Hagrid now sauntered.

"How does everyone know my name, Hagrid?" Harry asked. "Why do they keep saying I won a war? I love it…but I don't like it."

"No time for incongruities now, Harry," Hagrid said, dismissing the subject. "I've got to make this wall disappear with my umbrella." And do that, Hagrid did. He touched his umbrella upon the bricks in strategic locales ("Up, Up, Down, Down, Left, Right, Left, Right, B, A, Select, Start" Hagrid muttered as he did so). Suddenly the brick wall collapsed on itself, and revealed a spawling metropolis! Harry gazed in wonder at hundreds of witches and wizards traveling hither and thither, stopping at various magical stores and buying various mystical pens, pencils and other magical school supplies. Harry was particularly taken by a handsome broom in a glass display of one of the stores. Dozens of kids huddled around the window, breathing germed breath upon the otherwise pristine glass. "That's the Nimbus 2000!" an asthmatic boy exclaimed, "My dad said he'd get it for me if I brought home straight O's and he loved me!" "It's slightly faster than the Nimbus 1999!" a girl squealed. "But twice as expensive!" At this point, a disgruntled shopkeeper came out wielding a Nimbus 1999 like a baseball bat (though the wizarding world had no notion of baseball). The shopkeeper dispersed the children, shouting, "Stop hyperventilating on my windows, you miniature harpies!"

Harry spent some time ogling at the excitement around him, but then a burly man bumped into him and spit, "Bah! Out of my way, I'm trying to sell drugs to orphans!" Hagrid, hearing this, hoisted the man by his petard and said, "Oh no you don't! Those orphans are the cornerstone of our economic puzzle!" With that, he chucked the dealer far and away over the nearest building. Hagrid turned back to Harry and said, "Alright, Harry, let's go to the bank to grab currency!"

Harry was aghast. "But Hagrid, I haven't a bank account, nor the money that compromises a bank account. I'm not sure you've noticed, but I am quite the pauper."

Hagrid winked an eye that could crush a fly. "Oh, your parents didn't leave you with nothin'…" Hagrid steered Harry to an angular building labeled:

_Gringott's Bank_

_Taking Care of Your Money__ FOR__ You_

When they entered the building, a small—too small!—ugly creature, with a large nose and a larger ego barked in a squeaky voice, "Yes? Do you have an appointment?"

"Um, uh," Articulated Harry.

"Hurry up! There's much banking to be done!" yelled the small thing.

"You can't let these goblins see your fear," said Hagrid, "You have to show em who evolved better!" he then turned his attention to the goblin behind the large podium, "Listen here, you half-pint turd! I want _his_ money," Hagrid gestured towards Harry, "and I want it now!"

"Fine fine, just don't toss me!" cowered the goblin. He called over another one of the goblins that was just wandering about.

"Not like I was _busy_ or anything," muttered this new goblin to himself, then he grabbed a lantern and beckoned Harry and Hagrid to follow him down a long, spooky tunnel, "We must go down the pit of no return."

"If there's no return how shall we get back?" questioned Harry.

"Don't worry, it's just to scare tourists," reassured Hagrid.

"There are no tourists!" returned the boy.

"Exactly!"

The three walked onto a rickety coal cart, which ran on a dilapidated rail system going over a cavernous maw. Once on board, the machine began traveling at an unsafe speed along its predetermined path. The entire time Harry was screaming. Hagrid and the goblin lit up cigarettes.

"This kid yours?" the goblin breathed out a cloud of smoke.

"Hell no," Hagrid said. "Do I look suitable for breeding?"

Just as the cigarettes went out, the cart stopped in front of Vault 636. Hagrid placed a large, cumbersome key into the goblin's hand, which the goblin used to open the vault. Upon opening, the vault was found to be filled with piles of piles made up of money. Gold, silver, bronze coins abounded.

"See Harry?" Hagrid said. "Holy crap! Your parents left you a lot of currency! My parents never loved me that much…Why, you don't even have to go to school. You could live however you wanted…A man could be truly free with this money. Well! Take what you need to survive!"

"Hagrid," Harry said, "I don't even know what I'm looking at."

"'Zwounds boy! Take a pile of gold coins to buy stuff with."

Harry filled a large satchel with the luminescent coins. As the weight bore down on him, Harry remembered how hungry he was. "Hagrid, why is the wizarding world still using a monetary system based off of coin of the realm? Would not paper money be much easier?"

"And what's next, boy?" Hagrid retorted. "Credit? Imaginary money you can't even see?! Bushwah! Sounds like a one-way ticket to the poorhouse!"

They only had one more stop: Vault 4812. Only Hagrid stepped into this vault. "Official Hogwarts business," said he. Inside was only a small package, which Hagrid placed in one of his pockets. "Best not tell anyone about this, capiche?" he asked Harry. Harry nodded, wondering when he would receive his delicious capiche.

Hagrid walked Harry outside and told him, "Now, you go and pick up your robes, books and wand. I've got grown-up business to take care of." With that, he abandoned the boy in the busy street.

"I don't know where any of those things are," Harry said to no one. Undaunted, he wandered the crime-ridden streets of Diagon Alley. In a short while, he had chanced upon the robe shop. "this looks like a pleasant place to shop at," he said. He walked up to the head seamstress and presented her with a fistful of moneys. "How many monetary units do I need to buy . . . what I need to buy?"

The patient women pointed to a stool in front of a mirror. "Stand on that, dear, and we'll measure you."

"Very well."

As Harry was being measured, the boy next to him, also being measured—a blond, douchy-looking kid—leaned over to Harry and said, "I'm Draco Malfoy! And I don't care what your name is."

"So, should I not tell you that my name is Harry Potter?"

"You're Harry Potter?!" Draco flailed his arms, knocking over the woman measuring him. "NOW I care! We should be buddies." Suddenly he eyed Harry shiftily. "Say, you're not friends with any mudbloods are you?"

"I would be if I knew what that meant," Harry answered. "They sound delectable."

"Never mind. The deals off. I'm out of here," Draco said, though he stayed on the stool because he was still being measured. It was an awkward way for Harry and Draco to spend the remaining eight minutes of their fitting.

After getting his robes, Harry quickly grabbed his school supplies, and somehow found his way to Ollivander's wand shop. He walked through the door, and was greeted by a codgery old wandmaker with a warm smile. The man was planing away at a wand. "I spend countless hours making one wand," the man said, "And I sell it for a sickle. Does this not remind you of life, Mr. Potter?"

"Do you want me to come back at another time?" Harry asked. "Also, how do you know my name?"

"I've been waiting for you. It seems like your mother and father were in here yesterday buying their own wands from me, Mr. Potter. But, Time being an imaginary thing, maybe they _were _here yesterday." He held out his hand for Harry to shake. "I am Mr. Ollivander. Come along boy, I must measure you!"

"Come again?" Harry asked. But before he knew it, Ollivander had measured his arm, wrist, fingers, thumb (which is not a finger), and asked him questions like "On a scale of one to ten, how magical do you feel right now?"

"Which one is the highest?" Harry asked.

"Ten."

"Then one."

Ollivander completed this chore, and brought to Harry a wand. "This," he said, "Is the same type of wand your father used—it's made of _wood_."

Harry took the wand, but no sooner did it enter his grasp than a portal to an unspeakable dimension of horrors open up within the shop. A voice came from the blackness: _THE DARK MOON RISES ONCE MORE. I AWAKEN._

"Oh bother!" Ollivander said, taking the wand from Harry, which closed the portal. "Not that one." Next he brought to Harry a daintier wand. "This was your mother's, also made of _wood_. Though I warn you, people may think you're gay if you use this one."

"Gay, like 'Happy'? Because I'd be very happy to use this wand!"

"Sure, kid."

Harry waved the wand, and a small fart noise emanated from the wand. Ollivander took back the wand. "No, definitely not." They tried dozens of wands, all either opening gateways to the eternal abyss or spouting rainbows and flatulence.

Finally, Ollivander picked up a dusty old box. From it, he drew a wand that Harry felt was unlike its predecessors. "Curioser and curioser," quoth Ollivander. "Made of _wood_…I wonder…" He gave Harry the wand, and a terrible yet magnificent chorus from nowhere shouted praise and hosannas. "I remember every wand I ever sold, Mr. Potter. This one that you are holding, which contains the ass-tails of a flaming bird, has only one twin, in which another ass tail resides. It is curioser that this wand should choose you because its brother carved its masters name onto your forebrow!"

Harry fingered his scar, making an unpleasant squelching sound. "This old thing?! My uncle told me that I got this by running into a door that said 'tromedloV' on it."

"You bought that kid?"

"So who owned that wand?"

Ollivander spoke very slowly: "'Vol-de-mort'. But! we do not speak his name!"

"But, you just said—"

"Closing time! Give me your money and leave!"

Harry left the wand shop filled with questions, and no means to answer them. In came his means in the form of Hagrid, toting a lovely white owl in a dismally small cage. Harry could not help but feel empathy for the bird, and wondered whether this bird was not his ornithological doppelganger.

"Happy birthday, Harry!" Hagrid said, thrusting the bird on him.

"I don't want it. It makes me sad," Harry protested.

"Her name's Hedwig! Trust me, you'll miss her when she dies…of old age."

Harry agreed that this was a possible scenario, as he was often sad for less than that.

**A/N: Thanks again to everyone who read, and also to those who reviewed. But a negative thanks to those people who thought about reviewing, but then decided not to for whatever reason. Those guys are cowards.**

**Stay in school.**


	5. Crapter 5

**A/N: O'l Bob would like to take this time to ask everyone to turn off their cell phones, beepers, or pagers, as they distract the other readers. Also, if you are in possession of a beeper or a pager-why are you reading this? YOU'RE MEANT FOR GREATER THINGS.**

**Chapter The Fifth – A Drunken Explanation; or This Train Doesn't Seem Very Magical**

Harry and Hagrid returned to the Leaky Cauldron that very night to sup. Well, Harry watched with avarice as others supped. Hagrid, in his enthusiasm to drink, had ordered only drink and told Harry to quote, "Get your own, drinks are for winners." Harry did not hold this against the mostly-gentle giant, considering he was still Harry's sole ally. To allay the deep hunger in his tummy, Harry asked, "Hagrid, I've always wondered what this word on my forehead means, if anything. And why, if they do, people care if such a thing is?"

Hagrid, in no mood for jocularity, said glibly, "Leave me to my suffering."

But Harry was persistent! "Hagrid, I must know. Is my persistence not charming and endearing?"

"You'll never make friends this way, kid."

"Do you mean I may actually make friends some other way?!"

Hagrid, exhausted from the boy's persistence (which was neither charming nor endearing), pushed away his gigantic stein of ale, and said to the boy, "It all started many a year ago, before you were even a twinkle in your father's eye, and your mother was still flirting with anything on two legs. In this time there emerged a terrible force of evil. You must understand, Harry: some wizards are jerks. And this force of evil was the king of the jerks, like Jerk-xes the First."

"What was his name?"

"We're not supposed to say it."

"Maybe if you wrote it down…"

"No, I can' spell it."

"You should try to spell it phonetically—"

"Gah!"

In a fit of cleverness, Harry took a stray chicken bone and rubbed the excess grease over his forehead. Having done that, he took Hedwig from her cage and rubbed the bird liberally across this brow (inciting a "SQUAWK!" from the owl). This being done, Harry looked into the feathers of his bird and saw the word "Voldemort" written on her wing. Harry took nigh onto fifteen minutes to laboriously sound out the word, after which Hagrid dunked Hedwig in ale to wash off the grease.

"Voldemort?" Harry exclaimed. "Does that mean something? I thought that was just random scribbling."

"It's a name, jabrony," Hagrid said. "They were dark days, Harry, and darker nights! You-Know-Who got himself some followers, brought 'em to the dark side. You have to understand, Harry, teens were confused and didn't know what they wanted out of life, easily swayed by charisma. And He-Who-Must-Be-Named literally had a potion for charisma in his pocket! Anyone who stood in his way ended up dead or severely disintegrated."

"Can you survive a severe disintegration?"

"If you're unlucky. But your parents fought against him. A bad move, some would say, me among them. Voldemort came to your house to kill your entire family. No one survived, not one, _EXCEPT YOU_."

Harry brushed his scar with fingers made feeble by malnourishment. "Me? Voldemort tried to kill me?"

"Yep! By all stretches of the imagination and magical science, you should be dead. But you aren'! That mark on your head comes from a curse, and not just any kind o' curse, an evil curse!"

Harry pondered. Then he stopped pondering to speak. "So what happened to this monarch of jerks?"

"That night he disappeared. Some say he died. Then smarter folks said that he was simply made incorporeal, and probably hiding in Albania. But nobody wanted to go to Albania, so we just took it on faith that he's gone. That's why you're famous, Harry. That's why everyone knows you: you're the Boy Who Didn't Die."

"So I didn't actually do anything?"

"Nope!" Hagrid brought the boy in for a fatherly embrace, a kind gesture marred only by the vomit Hagrid had dribbling down his beard. "You're gonna go places, son. It may not be far! But it will be places."

Harry, despite the smell of bile and vomit, smiled. He didn't know what his destiny would hold, but that night, as Hagrid drunkenly slumbered and Harry picked the food scraps from his plate, he dared to dream.

# # #

The next day, Hagrid walked Harry to the train station. "Alrigh', Harry," Hagrid said, shaking the boy's hand and presenting the ticket, "You're on your own from here."

Harry looked down at his ticket. "I have never seen a train before, I have no idea what they look like".

But Hagrid had already left. Harry was continually surprised at the swiftness with which the giant moved. Undaunted, Harry made his way down to the platform. He waved down a portly conductor and said to him: "Excuse me, kind conductor, what is a train?" He waved the ticket in the conductor's face.

"Don't know what a train is?" the conductor scoffed. "Think you're being funny, do you?"

"No, I really need help." But it was too late—the conductor had adjourned to his own devices.

It was at that moment that a gaggle of redheads raced past Harry. He caught whispers of words like, "muggle" and "dirty blood." Harry, having no choice but to trust in the kindness of strangers, walked alongside the mother of the brood and asked, "Could you help me find a train?"

The woman had a kindly face, and a kindly body to match. "Excuse me, dear? Which train do you mean?"

"There's more than one?!"

Taking pity on the little idiot, the woman said, "Of course, dear. Let me see your ticket...Going to Hogwarts as well! Like my spawnlings. Not to worry! Everyone is a little nervous on their first day of Hogwarts. It's Ron's first time as well." The woman gestured toward a lanky, awkward firecrotch with huge ears and searing freckles.

Suddenly conscientious of his own looks, Harry looked away.

The woman took Harry by the shoulder and directed him toward a support pillar made of brick. "All you have to do," she said, "is walk straight into that pillar. It is a magical gateway to the train"-she fluttered her fingers about- "But you must believe that it is not a brick wall."

"But it is," Harry retorted.

"That's why I said 'believe', halfwit," she said sweetly.

Harry braced himself and raced toward the pillar with his luggage. "BKAW!" Hedwig squawked as Harry collided with the solid brick wall. Harry and his things crumpled to the cold linoleum.

The group of redheads guffawed. "We always get the newbies with that one!" a taller redhead boy said.

"You'd laugh if you were in our shoes," said the boy's twin.

Harry was inclined to agree.

"The real one is over there," the mother said, pointing to the next pillar. All of the redhead children crossed through the barrier and disappeared before Harry's eyes. Heartened, Harry once again tried with newfound vigor to enter the portal. "BKAW!" Hedwig once again squawked as Harry, once again, collided into the solid brick wall.

"I wasn't kidding about the believing," the mother said. "and if you stop believing halfway through, _you get stuck in there forever. _See you around, deary!" The mother retreated.

Harry, believing with all his might, ran into the pillar. In only a second, he emerged to find (what he assumed was) a train. Harry boarded the steel monstrosity and walked along the narrow path towards the back of the vehicle. Spotting a group of friendly-looking boys around the same age all sitting merrily in one of the compartments, Harry opened the door and asked, "Can I sit with you guys?"

"We'd prefer you didn't," came the reply.

"Thanks for your time." Harry said, then moved along.

Harry finally arrived at the final compartment, in which sat the lanky redheaded boy from before. "Excuse me," Harry began, "Before you say 'No' to my sitting with you, may I point out that I am apparently exceedingly wealthy?" Harry produced a fistful of the silly currency.

"Merlin's scrote!" the ginger exclaimed. "Look at all that currency!" The boy waved Harry into the seat across from him. "I'm Ron, by the way. Ron Weasley."

"Hello. I'm Harry. Harry Potter."

Ron's mouth fell open. "So it's true! They said you were on board! Do you"-Ron began, then faltered-"Do you have the mark?"

Harry sighed, then lifted his bangs to reveal the word "Voldemort" scrawled garrulously across his forehead.

"Wicked!" Ron said.

Harry smiled in spite of himself. This was the closest feeling to kindness he had ever received. They became fast friends, and talked for a long while. Harry asked questions like why did a community of wizards rely on coal to power their trains (seeing as it was an inefficient and polluting fuel system); Ron responded with a hearty "I don't know!" And the two laughed merrily.

It was then their merriment was interrupted by a homely trolley-lady, peddling snacks to the youngsters. "Anything off the trolley, dearies?" she asked.

"No thanks," Ron said, frowning. "I'm all set." From his pocket he pulled out an unopened can of spam that his mother had graciously packed for him.

Harry, making well-known his disgust for the salty meat by-product, displayed a handful of gold coins and said to the trolley-lady, "Get out of here. Leave the cart."

In no time at all, the boys had ravished the cornucopia of snackery. There was Bertie Bott's Bean Flavors You Don't Want, Sulphuric Acid Pops, Chocolate Talking Frogs, Bazooka Joe, Satan's Nards (essentially jawbreakers that never, EVER broke), and a whole host of other delicious treats. They boys were left sluggish, contented with their consumption.

A bloated Harry wheezed to Ron, "You feel okay, Ron?"

"I'm tired," Ron groaned.

Harry picked up a box of Bertie Bott's Flavors You Don't Want, and asked of Ron, "What kind of flavors are flavors I don't want?"

"Well," Ron began, with a labored breath, "There are flavors like lead, fart, broken glass, Scotsman's kilt, human flesh, British food, and I hear there's even a coochie flavor."

"What's coochie?"

"I don't know, but one of my brother keeps telling me he got it."

Harry put down the package in favor of a Chocolate Talking Frog. He ripped off the plastic wrap and opened up the small box, revealing a bound, chocolaty frog struggling against its restraints. "What are you waiting for?!" the frog challenged. "Do what you came here to do!"

Harry gave Ron a repugnant look. "Are they all like this?"

Ron chortled. "Wait till you get a mean one. The frogs aren't important anyway—it's the cards inside you want! Each card is dedicated to a famous witch or wizard."

Harry dumped the rebellious amphibian out of the moving train window ("Blaaaahhhhhh!" it exclaimed), and took from the package a glossy card with a picture of Dumbledore on it. "Who's this chucklehead?"

"That's Dumbledore. I got about thirty-eight of him," Ron said, carelessly chucking his own frog out the window as well.

"He looks confused," Harry noted. It was true: the image of Dumbledore looked hither and thither, scratched his face and shuffled out of the card's frame and out of sight. "He left!"

"Yep, that's pretty standard." Ron revealed his own card and disappointedly stated, "Oh man, it's just another Sarah Good."

Harry opened his second package. The frog inside passionately yelled, "Do it!" Harry shrugged his shoulders and bit the candied animal in half, making a delightful crunching sound as he did so. Harry then reviewed his new card, and asked, bewildered, "Who's this guy?"

"Oh my God!" Ron shouted. "That's a foil Alistair Crowley! I will trade you _anything _for it! How many Sarah Goods do you want?!"

That was when a knocking at the compartment door interrupted their haggling. The door opened, and in the doorframe stood an unsightly girl with frazzled brown hair, reminiscent of a bird's nest made out of dried seaweed (only dyed brown).

Harry, never having seen a girl his own age before, whispered to his friend, "Ron, I don't want to alarm you, _but there is another presence in the compartment with us_."

"Have either of you seen a nematode?" the girl asked in an annoying voice. "A boy named Neville's lost one."

"What's a nematode?" Ron asked.

"Well then you haven't seen it, have you?" the girl retorted.

Harry said, "Well maybe if you told us what it looked like, we could help you find it."

The girl considered, then answered, "No, I think I'll find people better suited to help me." As she turned to go, she noticed the writing on Harry's forehead. The girl suddenly gawked, and came way too close to Harry's face. "Oh my God! Oh my God! You're Harry Potter!"

"...Yeah," Harry said weakly.

"Is it true that as an infant you stood up and slew Voldemort with your bare hands?!"

"I don't remember. I was a baby."

"Well, I'm sure you'll do very well at Hogwarts! I'm Hermione Granger, by the way."

Ron piped up: "My name's Ron. Ron Weasely."

"Whatever," Hermione said, not looking at Ron. "You two best change into robes. I expect we'll be arriving soon." Hermione got up to leave, then stopped. "But before I go"-she pulled a wand out of her robe-"_Gluttonous Retracto!_"

As if by magic (because it was), the sugary weights in Ron and Harry's bowels were alleviated. Hermione left, obviously pleased with herself.

"How did she know that spell?" Harry said. "She must be a witch!"

"Duh," Ron said, helping himself to another Chocolate Talking Frog.

**A/N: Thanks to all who reviewed. You are the stars in our sky. Though you probably died millions upon millions of years ago, your light still burns.**


	6. Bigger than 5, smaller than 7

**A/N: Thanks again to everyone who reviewed. Let's get right to it!**

**Chapter The Sixth – Does a Man Define His House, Or Does the House Define the Man?**

It was not long before the train pulled into Hogwarts Station. It was twilight when Harry and Ron emerged from their carriage. They joined a large group of first-years who were being herded—like the majestic bull, or the more domesticated cow—towards the front of the train. Hagrid was there, illuminating up a storm with a very unmagical lantern.

"Hey Hagrid!" Harry shouted.

"Hello 'Arry. Who's the ginger?"

"I'm Ron Weasley!" the boy piped up.

"Another one?" Hagrid replied. "I hated your brothers and now I hate you." Hagrid then spit on Ron, and ordered the first-years to follow him.

Hagrid led them to the shores of a lake. "Get in the boats," said he, gesturing towards a few rickety longboats floating in the shallows. "If there 'r no oars, then use your hands."

"Mine doesn't have a bottom!" said a pudgy, whiny boy.

"We've all got problems, chum," Hagrid said, directing Ron and Harry into his own spacious longboat.

The waters of the lake were calm, except for the minute splashes made by the children forced to paddle with their tiny hands. As the glorious castle on the far shore neared, Harry spied beneath the surface of the lake the face of a beauteous woman. She seemed to say "Follow me into the water, and I will show you the meaning of wonder!...Under the lake."

"Oh no you don't!" Hagrid growled, lifting the woman out of the water. With one mighty hand, he tossed the mermaid, her cries silenced by a dull, far-off _splosh!_ Hagrid turned to Harry. "Gotta watch out for women, Harry...and mermaids. They'll eat your skin."

"The women or the mermaids?"

"Yes." By now the boats were at the shore. Harry admired the vast castle as the first-years piled out of their boats.

Hagrid guided the children to the castle entrance, and then up a flight of stairs. At the summit of these steps was an elderly woman in a pointy hat who bade them to remain silent. "Quiet please," said she. "Now then, welcome to Hogwarts Technical School for Witchcraft and Wizardry. I am Professor McGonagal, Deputy Headmistress and Head of Gryffindor House. In a moment, you will walk through these gigantic, very intimidating doors"—she motioned to the indeed sizable doors behind her—"into the Great Hall. Before the feast, you will be stared at relentlessly by much older, much wiser wizards who will determine the very outcome of your existence. Good hunting then!"

The boy who had before traveled in the boat sans bottom said meekly, "But I'm cold and hungry..."

"Know your place!" she screeched.

"Yeah!" Hagrid concurred, then spit on the boy.

"Now," McGonagal continued, "In a moment you will be sorted into your houses—Gryffindor the brave, Ravenclaw the wise, Slytherin the cunning, and Hufflepuff the..."-she exhaled exhaustedly- "Just wait here." She disappeared into the Great Hall.

Harry turned to Ron. "Why are we sorted into houses? Isn't this segregation?"

"Well that's a stupid question." Harry recognized the voice of Draco Malfoy, the boy from the robe shop. He was a douche then, he was a douche presently. "What? Were your parents killed by a dark wizard before they could tell you these important things?" Malfoy cheerfully received a high-five from a burly lad to his right.

"Yes," Harry said.

"Hey!" Ron chimed in. "He's freaking Harry Potter! Watch out or he'll not die at you too!" The staircase was suddenly filled with the excited murmuring of the first-years. Voices mixed and mingled in a melange of phrases like "Is it really Harry Potter?!", "The Boy Who Didn't Die!", "What's for dinner?" and "Harry Potter!"

"Oh I'm sorry, Weasley," Draco snapped, "You can't afford to buy a vowel at this time!" Raucous laughter from Malfoy, his burly companion and another chubby lad nearest him.

Ron turned green, like the money he didn't have. Before Harry could retort, McGonagal ducked her head back into the stairway and said, "We're ready for you."

In the Great Hall (for that is where they were), Harry saw four massive tables, at which sat many young wizarding students, all staring at the incoming freshies. At the far end of the Hall sat the table of professors, also watching with interest. Harry looked upward, and beheld the stars of heaven, as if there were no ceiling.

"It's bewitched!" Hermione shouted to no one in particular, "the ceiling only looks like the night sky! I read that in _Hogwarts, A History_, and it didn't have any pictures in it!"

"Yeah, you'll make lots of friends here," Draco said. For a moment, Harry felt kindred with Draco.

McGonagal brought them to the front of the Great Hall. She then moved a stool to the center of the room. On this stool she placed an old, pointy hat that by all appearances was rickety. To metaphrase, if this hat were a ship, Harry would not sail in it, for fear of it sinking. Without warning, the hat spake!: "First, a song," it said in a monotone voice. It cleared its mysterious larynx and began in a piercing baritone-

_Oh baby, let me put you up inside of me_

_I know you're nervous because it's your first time_

_But let me take care of things_

_As I rummage around your insides!_

_Don't take no mind as I rummage around your insides_

_Ooh, I fit so tight._

_Don't bother to fight_

_Gonna fit you into place, I like it when you make that face._

_Gryffindor, you're hard and like it fast_

_Slytherin get your serpent ready_

_Ravenclaw, don't need no brains for what we're doin', but you got 'em anyway_

_Hufflepuff, I'll find what you crave._

_So step on up and let's do the deed_

_Just you and me._

_(HERE THE VOICE BECAME METALLIC AND ATONAL)_

**You will be placed into four categories**

**Based on a scoring system only I can comprehend.**

**Approach one at a time**

**For cranial stimulation!**

The hat ceased to wild applause. "I want that on my Ipod!" a child proclaimed, whilst others around him gave him quizzical looks. When the applause died down, McGonagal read names off of a list. The first one up was, "Abbot, Hannah!"

A scared-looking girl with curly hair sat in the stool and had the Hat placed upon her skull.

"Hmmm," the Sorting Hat mused, "No ambition, not very bright, father's a drinker...Hufflepuff!" Half-hearted, uncomfortable claps emanated from the somewhat portly Hufflepuffs. All wore yellow badges on their robes and seemed winded by the act of applause.

"That poor lass," Ron muttered.

"Granger, Hermione!" McGonagal shouted. Hermione, whispering confidence to herself sat under the Hat.

"Let's see," the Hat said. "Confident, _very _bright, father's a drinker...I think you'd overcome your problems in Gryffindor!" Much clapping from the scarlet-and-gold table, not knowing what they had just acquired.

"Longbottom, Neville!" said McGonagal, apparently reciting names in no particular order. It was the unfortunate boy much spit upon.

The Hat considered. "Eh, why not? Gryffindor!" the boy walked proudly to his table, as Malfoy spit on him.

"Malfoy, Draco!"

Malfoy sneered for no reason, and went under the Hat.

"The path you walk is a dark and lonesome one...Make a lot of friends in Slytherin!" To the green-and-silver table went he.

Ron leaned toward Harry. "All the bad douchingtons go to Slytherin!" he said.

"Weasley, Ronald!"

"Another Weasley?! God, it's like your Catholic rabbits! No point in switching horses this late in the race—Gryffindor!"

"Potter, Harry!" Here there were excited murmurs from the entire Hall. Now everyone was actually paying attention to the proceedings.

"Interesting," the Hat said, "Boring, yes! But interesting...No father to abuse alcohol—an anomaly!..."

"Not Slytherin, not Slytherin," Harry chanted.

"Not Slytherin, eh? You would do well, perhaps too well! in Slytherin. Well, I suppose there's always Hufflepuff-"

"NOT HUFFLEPUFF! NOT HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Alright, don't get your wand in a knot!...Gryffindor!"

Harry, relieved, joined his ruby-haired friend at the Gryffindor table. The remainder of the Sorting took several hours, but those hours were inconsequential.

Dumbledore rose gingerly from his chair, and gestured for the assembly to quiet down. When all was silent, Dumbledore said in his soft, commanding voice, "Welcome to a new year! I have a few announcements for the beginning of term." He eyed the assembly suspiciously, then leaned forward and stage-whispered: "_I don't like skim milk! _Not by itself, not in my Magic Coffee, not anywhere! So if anyone one of you little whippersnappers is caught _skimming my _milk—well I don't want to go into too much detail—you'll be bludgeoned with a sock full of sickles (which is a lot of fun to say!)." It was at this point Professor McGonagal lightly shook the Headmaster from his semi-somnambulist state. "Where was I? Where am I?" he continued. "Oh right, work! A few reminders for first-years—I really don't like skim milk..."-another "Achem!" from McGonagal and a flick to Dumbledore's ear—"Right! The third floor corridor is off-limits to all those who do not wish to die a most painful death. Also, the Dark Forest is off-limits to those who do not wish to die an excruciatingly painful death. And lastly, no first-year may own a broom on pain of an inconceivably torturous death." Dumbledore smiled a twinkly smile, clasped his hands together and yelled "Who's up for Mexican!" At this pronouncement, the four tables filled with festive Mexican delights! Burritos!... and many other Mexican delicacies.

Harry, who had never before had food willingly presented to him, looked to Ron for permission to eat. Ron had already begun his consumption, so it was a good ten minutes before he looked to Harry and gave him permission to begin. "I'm used to eating last," Harry said, "Or not at all."

As Harry was about to spoon up his burrito, a transparent head emerged from the table itself! "Vive le France!" the crowned head cried. Soon an entire ghostly body emerged from the table, clad in regal prison garb, and floating above the children. "Bonjour, my friends," it spake.

"I know you!" Ron exclaimed. "You're Louis XVI! Disgraced and deposed king of France!"

"Oui," the ghost replied solemnly.

"Hold on!" Hermione annoyingly shouted. "I read that you were beheaded on account of your financial incompetence, lavish lifestyle and for escaping to Varennes in 1792!"

"Oui," Louis acquiesced, and lifted his severed head (the foremast of the human body) off of his neck. Hermione yelped, Ron choked on his food; Harry was too feverishly engrossed in his meal to care about the decapitated, monarchical ghoul.

In fact, at that moment, every table was involved in similar spiritual phenomena. When Harry finally did look up from his meal, he spotted at least a dozen other ghosts cavorting about the Great Hall.

"Is that American President Abraham Lincoln?!" Hermione exclaimed, pointing towards a gangly spook topped with a stovepipe hat.

"I don't care about any Yankee prime minister!" Ron fired back.

"That's _President_ Lincoln to you, Johnny Reb!" Lincoln yelled at Ron, spraying the boy with ectoplasmic spittle. "And if I had corporeal use of my gargantuan limbs, I'd bend you over my shoulders and break your spine." Lincoln turned to Louis. "Out of my way, you flamboyant crepe! Where's Nobunaga? I owe him one from last night!" With that, Lincoln rolled up his immaterial sleeves, assumed an outdated boxing stance and glided toward the Hufflepuff table, but not before hawking a big one on Mr Longbottom.

And so the evening continued until every child's belly was full. The students were led out of the Hall by their Prefects, snobby older children who thought they were better than everyone else (though they were just as bad). Ron's older brother Percy, a thin, tall ginger with an irritating penchant for authority, was one of the Gryffindor Prefects. Percy led them up a set of staircases that shifted rapidly and unpredictably.

"This way to Gryffindor Tower!" Percy directed. Just then the staircase flapped, like an old candybar wrapper, in a different direction. "Very well. _This way _to Gryffindor!"

"But we've lost half the group!" yelped a frightened first-year, watching her comrades descended to a shadowy below.

"They knew better than to straggle," Percy replied pompously.

"But they didn't know better-"

"Moving on!"

Eventually (most of) the students made it to the seventh floor corridor. Percy faced them towards a large portrait of a larger lady.

"Password?" the Fat Lady asked.

"Mary Wolstonecraft needs braces," Percy replied. The portrait hole swung open.

"That's a dumb password, Percival!" Ron chided. "Why don't you go iron your robes again?!"

"I've starched them twice!" Percy shot back, and shuffled the young students into their living quarters. The Common Room consisted of a fire place, leather chairs and couches, a large bookcase and one lonely window, which any student could use for unspoiled dreaming, or mournfully awaiting their love's return.

"Right," Percy proclaimed, his eyes shut but his voice commanding, "Boys upstairs on the left, girls on the right. There shall be no cross-mingling of genders, not on Percival's watch!... Not again..." when Percy reopened his eyes, all of the students had departed to their separate quarters, leaving him woefully alone.

Harry, with Ron and a few other chums (Neville, Irish Seamus, the black guy, etc.) went upstairs and found their suitcases next to comfortable, not-in-armoire beds that had blankets and pillows. Harry fell atop his soft coverlet and drifted off into the peaceful sleep of one who knows that tomorrow will bring breakfast.

**A/N: Tune in next time to find out if Harry can actually make more friends! Or are they just using him for his fame and wealth?! Or Both?!**


	7. Chapter Sleven

**Chapter the Seventh—We Don't Need No Education, but It Helps**

**The Classist Class System**

Harry, who had never attended school before, had trouble reading his schedule. Therefore, Ron narrated it to him as such:

Transfiguration—Professor McGonagal

Magical Sex Education—Professor Onan

Potions—Professor Snape

Charms—Professor Swizzlestick

"Fantastic!" Harry chirped. "But what do those words mean?"

"Come on, I'll show you," Ron said.

They were late to their first class because the two had stopped for breakfast, which was long, hard and deep. When Harry was presented his breakfast kippers, bangers and mash, he lifted the plate to the sky and intoned, "Food! Glorious food!" Ron said, "You're making a scene," and then farted long and deep so as to be heard and smelt by the entirety of the Great Hall. Anyway, they got to Professor McGonagal's class over ten minutes late! Such impunity would not be tolerated. Luckily for them, instead of Professor McGonagal they found a cat.

"Whew!" Ron sighed. "Could you imagine the look on McGonagal's face if we were late and she, you know, saw it…with her face?"

Suddenly (and with only this narration as warning) the cat animorphed into Professor McGonagal, a woman whose kind face was marred by unkindliness. "You're late," she said.

"You lied to us! We thought you were a cat!" Ron answered.

"I was a cat, you dolt," she replied. "Perhaps if you two insist on being late, I should turn one of you into a fleshy clock, and then clean said clock for you!"

"Having a time-keeping device would only make us aware of how late we are," Harry said. "It wouldn't help us get here on time."

"Ten points from Gryffindor for hubris," she said. "Find your seats."

The two adventurers fared no better in their next class. Magical Sex Education was taught by Professor Onan, a disheveled and tired-looking wizard who began the class by saying, "Repeat after me: _Trojanus Maximus_…._Trojanus Maximus_….". The class continued this way for an hour and a half; their homework was to discover what a dental dam was, and then proceed to build one as would an industrious beaver.

Their third class, Potions, was by far the most trying. It took place in the dungeons of the castle, and they shared the class with the Slytherins. Before class began, Draco Malfoy found Harry and Ron and proceeded to make rude, conflicting gestures at them—such as extending his middle finger towards them while indicating fellatio with his free hand. Not one of the three involved in this infantile charade could have explained what these gestures meant.

The dungeon door burst open and a sallow, gaunt, greasy wizard appeared, whose very presence brought to mind an old and malicious banana. His voice was deep, intentioned and slooooow. "There will be no jocularity in this class, nor chicanery, ribaldry, dilly-dallying, shenanigans, hop-scotchery; and let's try to keep the happiness levels at a bare minimum—the only smiles I want to see are the smiles due directly to Potions class, or from the subtle happiness one gains from realizing their own mortality." He made his way to the platform at the head of the room. "And I will tolerate no questions. Any questions?"

Hermione, who had joined Harry and Ron at their table, raised her hand and said, "I have a question."

"Fifty points," Snape said, "for your treacherous hubris." Snape crossed his arms menacingly and said ("That wasn't a quiestion!" she yelled whinily, but the professor ignored her), "There are those of you here who have been blessed with the gift of ignorance, I can do nothing for you. However, for those of you who possess the sublime predisposition—I can teach you to fog the mind and ensnare the senses; I can teach you to bottle fame and brew morning glory; I can even teach you to make a pretty good substitute for penicillin."

Harry, completely oblivious of the caliber of man he was dealing with, asked, "If you can bottle fame, why are you still a teacher? is it because you love your students so much?"

If looks could kill, Harry would have at least been maimed by Snape's stare; as it stands, he was merely traumatized. "Mmmmister Potter," he said. "Our new celebrity. Since you are so keen on opening your trap, tell me, what are the main ingredients of a wolfsbane potion?"

Hermione's hand went up like a unsanctioned North Korean missile test. Harry, befuddled, ventured a guess. "…Wolfsbane?"

"What else?!" Snape asked.

"Love?"

Snape puckered his lips. "Correct. But tell me, Mister Potter, where would you look if I asked to find me a bezoar?"

Once again, Hermione's hand; once again, Harry, armed with nothing but childhood wonder, said, "Could you not get all these ingredients at the potion store?"

Snape turned as red as a bad simile. "Also correct. BUT, tell me, Mister Potter, what is it like to grow up within a loving family?"

Harry, his childhood wonder extinguished, said meekly, "I don't know, sir."

"Pity. Clearly, fame isn't everything."

The rest of the class was a nightmare. Each of the students was instructed to make a Contentment Brew, which were then tested on Professor Snape. None worked.

The final class of the day was Charms with Professor Swizzlestick. He was a jovial goblin (hence why he was kicked out of goblin academy…he also practiced insider trading, but mostly it was the joviality). "One of a wizard's most basic heathenisms"—the goblin word for "spell"—"is levitation, or the ability to make objects fly. Let's practice!" He gave each student a feather and instructed them to take out their wands. "Now then, hold your wand like so—like a man, Ronald, there's a good boy—so the movement of the wand is a swish and flick, and the incantation is 'Wingardium floaty-boaty'! Give it a try!"

Each of the students tried desperately to lift the weight of the feather without resorting to physical strength. Harry became frustrated and threw his feather in the air proclaiming "Look upon my work, ye professor, and grade me well!" Ron, who was having special difficulty, was stopped by Hermione who said, "You're saying it like a jackanape. It's 'floaty-boat-_ee_', not 'floaty-boat-_ay_'."

"Let's see you do better, you cootie-ridden tart," Ron pouted.

Hermione moved her wand and said, "Wingardium floaty-boaty!" As if by magic, the feather was gently lifted upwards into the heavens. A smug smile appeared on Hermione's face, made all the more smug by her already very smug complexion.

"Well done! Well done, Miss Granger!" Cheered professor Swizzlestick, "It's a good thing the rest of you aren't as talented as Miss Granger. If you were I'd be out of a job! . . . Again." As impossible as it sounds he became a sad goblin.

After class, Ron, Harry and several other chumley fellows walked towards Gryffindor Tower in a haughty huff. "How dare she correct me?!" Ron gesticulated. "A man! When she is naught but a prepubescent woman!"

"Yeah!" Harry cheered, wanting more than anything to be liked and accepted.

Suddenly, a bushy-haired figure streaked past them in a flurry of tears. She jostled Ron (like a prep), who proclaimed, "Oy! What's her problem then?"

Harry watched the tearful Hermione run out of sight. "I don't want to speak out of place, but I think she heard you," he said.

"I hope she did! The strumpet," Ron replied.

"Ron, where do you learn all these words?"

"I have five older brothers, all of them Magical History majors! Except one, who is a dragon tamer in Romania."

"That sounds riveting, why didn't you tell me this sooner?!"


	8. Eight the Great

**A/N: Thanks for reviewing, everyone. I forgot to write that last chapter, so this will have to count for both. ON WITH THE STORY!**

**Chapter the Eighth—Trolling the Dungeons**

Harry felt bad about what had happened with Hermione. But when food was placed in front of him, all somber thoughts were dashed on the rocks of a placated appetite. By the way, it was Halloween now. Harry sat with Ron and Neville and several Griffin Gals, none of whom were Hermione. They did _talk _about Hermione though, and here's what they said:

"She is like, a total wet blanket," Parvati Patil told Ron, who was eagerly gorging himself on candies that would not be considered a suitable dinner.

"You're right!" Ron agreed. "She's totally sopping! She's completely sopped all the time! At least she's crying in the bathroom where we don't have to hear her incessant caterwaul."

"There's a sock in my food!" exclaimed Neville, to whom bad things had continued to happen without explanation.

"Oy! Longbottom!" a voice rang from across the Great Hall. It was that odious Draco Malfoy, who yelled, "Your Grandmother sent you a lovely postcard along with some money! I stole the card and the money because father says you are poor, and therefore inferior to me!" His gaze turned to Harry. "That goes for you too, Potter!"

Harry, who was gleefully enthralled in the mastication of candy (the first time he had experienced such an occurrence) replied, "Actually, I'm pretty well off for an orphan."

Suddenly, the doors of the Great Hall burst open and Professor Quirrel ran in, eyes a-blazin' and his turban severely ruffled. "TROLL!" he shouted. "TROLL IN THE DUNGEON! IT WON'T LEAVE!" He thereupon fainted. A brief silence, which was in its turn followed by a less-than-brief chorus of screams of terror. Students got up and headed for the doors in a not-so-organized manner.

"Silence!" came the deep, rumbly tumbly voice of Headmaster Dumbledore. All was quieted; the very stones of the castle itself were at attention. Dumbledore looked about the Hall and proclaimed, "Oldest goes first!" He jumped on top of the staff table, ran down the Great Hall, pushed through a group of children and squeezed himself through the mail slot of the Great Hall somehow (magic?). Before panic could break afresh, Professor McGonagal ordered the Prefects to escort the students back to their dormitories, and the teachers to the dungeons.

"It has been a long time since we've been able to do something like this," Harry heard Snape say as they exited the Hall. Snape was brandishing his wand in a Macbethian manner. Harry pulled Ron aside and said, "We have to go save What's-Her-Face!"

"Who?" Ron queried.

"Her! The girl in the bathroom whose life you destroyed!"

"You mean 'Mione?"

"Ugh! Don't _call _her that!" The two left the Gryffindor group and headed towards the women's lavatories. Getting to the bathroom took less than a minute; but finding the courage to cross the threshold took rather longer than it should have.

"Don't be a coward, Ron. Go in."

"Nuh-uh."

"This is your fault anyway, chucklehead."

"Alright, let's go in together on three. One—two—three!" They both got stuck in the door initially, but jimmied themselves free.

The sight they encountered was not one for the fainthearted. As one could guess, there was a troll. But also, there were no urinals in this bathroom.

"Help!" they heard Hermione's voice cry from a stall.

"Hermione!" Ron shouted back. "Where do you stand to pee?!"

The troll, who had until this point been poking his club underneath the stalls in an attempt to locate Hermione, noticed the boys. And he did not like what he noticed. The creature stood up to its full height, and began to grumble. As the reader well knows, a troll can only speak in either grunting sounds or in defamatory, fallacious statements. "Segregation is cool," the monster wheezed as it moved toward the two boys.

Thinking fast, Harry came up with a brilliant plan of attack. But instead of enacting it, he opted to tinkle and collect his thoughts. Alas, the door to the nearest stall had been broken off. "Nobody look!" he yelled, "I have to peepee!"

Ron was hoisted by his ankles by the troll and shaken violently. "Help!"

"I said don't look!"

Hermione crawled from under her stall and said to Ron, "I read that trolls don't like dying! Try to kill it, it won't like that!"

"God created Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve," the beast gurgled as it swung its massive club at Ron's noggin.

Ron was having success at dodging the blows, but had not worked his abs in a while, so he was getting tired. "I'm cramping up, guys!"

Harry, fully relieved of everything, stood in front of the troll and announced his plan: "I've got a plan: Hermione, tell me the plan! Come up with an idea!"

"Why don't you try using magic?" Hermione asked as she kicked the monster's rough heel.

Harry removed his wand from his robe and valiantly tried to remember the spell he had been taught. "_Wingardium floaty-boatay!_" Predictably, nothing happened.

"You're saying it wrong!" Ron said, swishing his own wand about. "It's '_wingardium floaty-boat-EEYY!" _Though the spell was admirably performed, what really finished off the beast was when Ron's swishing wand made its way through the monster's eye socket into the small brain. The creature croaked and choked (and stroked), before falling to the tiled floor and uttering, "Bring back _Firefly_". It was dead, dead as disco.

Ron clamored over the troll's arm and retrieved his wand from the troll's ocular orb. It made an unpleasant _sklooching _sound as it was removed. "Awesome!" Ron chimed.

Harry fetched Hermione, and the three stood in triumph over their felled foe. Just then, McGonagal and the other teachers entered the lavatory. McGonagal gasped. "Oh my! What?...explain yourselves, all of you!"

Before Harry and Ron could start blaming one another, Hermione answered with, "I fixed the problem. I saved these two! It was all me! Reward me!"

"Well, you do deserve an award for killing the troll. Fifteen points will be awarded to Gryffindor. However, ten points will be subtracted from Gryffindor for your hubris. Honestly! Trying to take down a mountain troll by yourself…" She and the other teachers, with the exception of Snape, left.

Snape walked up to the troll corpse. "So I see you killed the troll? Clever. Trolls really don't like dying, you see."

"Professor, there's a tooth in your leg," Harry said, pointing to a large, sharp bicuspid jutting from Snape's calf. "Are you okay?"

Snape hid the tooth with his cloak. "Mind your own business. Ten points from Gryffindor for your hubris." He walked out of the lavatory, and every other step he took was punctuated with an "Ow."

Hermione looked disdainfully at Ron, who was covered in troll fluids, and Harry, who had still tiny sprinklings of his urine in a dark patch on his trousers. "Clean yourselves off, you two. You look like a pair of old shoes."

"Good job killing the troll, Hermione!" Harry piped up.

And indeed, Harry and Ron were so grateful to avoid being asked why they were in the girl's bathroom, they readily admitted that Hermione vanquished the troll. So it happened—in that magical sort of way that only children understand or care about—the three became friends.

**A/N: And so the friendship sets sail over the seas of childhood memory. The three shipmates just hoped that they would spring no leaks in the form of one of them dating another, and then a weird, half naked make out scene would happen in an illusion, and it would be super awkward, like that TV show but with worse lighting and British people. Lets hope that never happens.**

**See you next time.**


	9. Cat O Nine Chapters

**Chapter the Ninth—Ocean's 4812**

Not long after, the three friends were sitting in the Great Hall, enjoying a breakfast of rather stale bagels (actually, it was enjoyable only for Harry, who still considered any day with food a good day).

Ron tested a hard bagel and eyed it suspicious-like. "Someone's been sparing the rod with the house elves," he said, chucking it back on the table.

Hermione put down the Wizard paper and pointed to an article that had just appeared in the headline banner. "Look here, halfwits!" she said. "Someone has tried to rob Gringott's!"

"I don't know what those words mean," Harry said as he bent over the paper. He still couldn't read so good, but he was getting the hang of it. Plus, Wizard papers, due to their magic, were constantly updated with new stories, and Harry found the moving colors soothing, and very distracting. He attempted to read aloud from the article Hermione pointed out. "Last night, Gringott's b-bank w-w-was rob..."

"'Robbed,' Harry," Hermione corrected. "Conjugate! Conjugate!"

"I also don't know what that means," he said, but Harry continued anyway: "...was robbed by un-ka-nown ass-assilants..."

"Super job," Hermione said, putting her head in her hand.

"You're a great teacher, '_MIONE!_" (Hermione's ridiculous nickname had grown on Harry, who always felt the need to falsetto-yell it, and pronounce it "Myawn!"). "Where was I?...Oh yes: 'Nothing w-was stolen, and o-o-nly one vault was broken in-two..."

"You've suffered enough, mate," Ron said, taking the paper from Harry. "'The vault broken into was Vault 4812. Apparently the mountains upon mountains of gold elsewhere in the bank held no interest for the criminals...'"

"Wait a minute!" Harry said. "I was at that vault with that lovable, huggable Hagrid! He took something from that vault, and asked me not to tell anyone!" Harry then described the excursion and the package in great detail. "But don't tell anyone about this!"

Just then, Draco Malfoy sauntered over to their table, accompanied by Crabbe and Goyle. "Well, well, well..." Draco said to his two droogs.

"Well, well, well..." Crabbe and Goyle parroted in the cockney-est accents you've ever heard.

"Is that a newspaper there?" Draco asked. "You fancy yourselves journalists? You know that print is a dying medium?!"

Harry looked concerned. "Oh no! Is there anything we can do for poor Medium?"

Ron sneered. "What do you want, Malfoy?"

"I was just on my way back from the bathroom," Draco said smugly, "and overheard your conversation. I thought I'd put in my two cents which are actually worth two galleons."

Ron raised an eyebrow. "And you need two people to help with the bathroom stuff? Are you sick? Which is it, too much or too little?"

"Too little, I imagine," whispered '_MIONE_!

Draco puffed up in anger. "You win this round, Mudder Butter!" He and his goons stormed off.

Hermione had been reduced nearly to tears, and Ron nearly reduced to sympathy for her tears.

Harry said, "I cry when my uncle beats me, or when I'm really hungry and my cousin eats the food off of my plate and makes me watch. Are those two things happening to you now?"

"No, it's not that, you idiot," Hermione said, dabbing at her eyes, "Mudder Butter is a really offensive thing to call someone of nonmagical parents, someone like me."

Harry was curious now. "So...he wasn't _wrong _when he called you a Mudder Butter?

"Just because he was right doesn't make it okay for him to say those things."

"So you'd rather hear a pretty lie than a harsh truth?"

Hermione launched a knife at Harry's head. And Harry was just a tad too late to avoid getting splattered with Dumbledore's creamy cheese.

After breakfast the Gryffindor's had gym class (beating the Hufflepuffs in magical dodgeball was no remarkable feat); however, the flying lesson afterwards turned out to be more interesting than merely flying into the sky and touching the face of God. The instructor, Madam Hooch, gave each of the students a broom and assumed they knew what to do with it, she then went into the shade and rolled a fatty. All the kids looked about at each other trying to understand what they were supposed to do. Draco picked up his broom and said, "I've ridden on a broom many times before. I was almost drafted by Puddlemere over the summer, but father said it would be too unfair to the other players if I played."

Ron blew a raspberry on his hand, "None of that happened, you big fat phony."

Draco tucked his chin to his chest, "Yeah it so too happened, totally!"

"Oh yeah?" said Ron, "Fly this high." Ron held his hand out so that it was about three feet off the ground.

Draco gulped, "I can totally do that, easy!"

Ron spread his arms in invitation, "Pr-r-r-rotheed."

Draco noticed that everyone was looking at him, "I could do it, but I don't want to give you the satisfaction!" Draco then huffed deeply the fumes of anger. He mounted his broom, and kicked off the ground and fell headfirst into the mud. After a manservant cleaned him up, Draco tried again, and fell into the manservant. After that manservant was dismissed with extreme prejudice, Draco finally kicked off the ground . . . and his broom snapped in half.

Madame Hooch, watching from her shaded corner, inhaled the chronic and, trying her best to let none of the smoke escape, said, "Good going, kids. Be all you can be."

The other students started mounting their brooms. Harry initially picked up his broom and began sweeping the ground, consequently moving dirt from one spot to another.

"No, you sod," said Hermione. "It's a magical broom. They're for flying, not sweeping. We have magical vacuums for cleaning."

Harry adjusted himself. "Thanks, _'MIONE!_" With that, Harry took off and displayed a skill set that could only have been gained from a deal with Satan. He swooped, he looped, he dalooped! And he fed a nestful of baby birds a regurgitated breakfast.

The other students were spellbound. One girl piped up and said, "If my body were developed enough to be aroused, I would be!"

"Harry!" Ron yelled. "How are you doing this?!"

"He must be an idiot savant!" Hermione said.

But Harry, that bubbly idiot, did not hear their words. He was too elated. "No, you'll never get me now, Uncle Vernon!" he shouted to the skies. "No, Dudley, _you _get in the armoire!"

Draco, feeling rather low after seeing how easily Harry took to flying, decided to lift his mood by stealing something from someone even worse off than he. Naturally, he chose Neville Longbottom. Draco walked up to Neville; Goyle made like a table behind Neville's legs, and Draco pushed him over. Neville, like a fallen idol, was cast to the ground. "I fell on my keys!" he shouted in agony.

Draco watched a small glass orb roll from Neville's pocket. He picked it up and watched the orb turn red. Of course! It was a Remembrall! "Hey, Longbottom," Draco said, "I've got something you can remember." Draco lifted his robes and mooned the unfortunate youngster, squeezing out a small toot-toot for good measure. The Dracster then took up the fallen Remembrall.

"Hey look! Draco's got a Remembrall!" Said Draco to everyone, but to himself mostly.

"Whatever that thing is give it back to its rightful owner!" yelled Harry from his floating broom.

"Is that bravery talking or stupidity?" asked Draco cockily.

Harry narrowed his eyes as though he was getting a closeup shot, "Maybe it's both."

Most everyone in the crowd below "ooo"ed, a small minority "aaaaaahhhh"ed. Draco mounted what was now his fifth broom, the pieces of the other four were being swept away by a new manservant. Draco began to float up to the same level as Harry, "You think I'm afraid of you? You can hardly spell your own name!"

"I've fought off dogs for spoiled cheese dinner," began Harry, "I won't back down to you, you straw-haired milk drinker." Harry lunged for the Remembrall, but Draco did a cool spinny manuever that was probably an accident.

Realizing that he couldn't take Harry in a match of broomstick chicanery, Draco settled on option B: kill the hostage and run. "I may not be able to outfly you," Draco said, "but I can outbrain you!" He hurled the Remembrall into the distance. "Fetch boy!"

Excited to have a task and used to being talked down to, Harry responded admirably. He zoomed across the field, keeping one eye on the Remembrall and one eye on the women's bathroom (he had a good view from up in the sky). With a nearly Herculean effort, Harry caught the small, glass, almost weightless ball.

A mighty cheer went up from the assembled crowd. Harry returned as a Roman in a triumph, hugging his friends (and his one enemy), and accidentally smashing the Remembrall into Neville's face in an attempt to return it to him.

"GAHHHHH!" Neville yelled, collapsing in a hail of glass and blood.

Madame Hooch found her way over, waving smoke from her path. "Good hustle, kids," she said. She looked at Neville writhing on the ground. "What's his problem?"

"There's glass in his eyes," Ron said.

Hermione shoved him out of the way and said, _"Oculus reparo," _in a nasally voice. The glass was removed from Neville's face, but not without taking a few parts of Neville's face with it. He was led to the infirmary.

"You know," Hermione said, "I could have stopped that Remembrall with a spell if I wanted to."

"Then why didn't you?" queried Ron.

Hermione shrugged, "I didn't feel like stealing Harry's thunder."

Ron scoffed, "Woman, Harry's thunder was too big to be stolen!"

"I'm afraid of thunder." whispered Harry.

Madame Hooch eyeballed Harry for the second time that day. "You ever think about playing quidditch?"

Harry beamed. "I would if I knew what that was!"

"You hungry?"

"I'm always hungry."

"Walk with me, and we'll talk. Let's get some 'za..."

**A/N: Thanks for reading, gang. Some of you may be asking, "When did Madame Hooch eyeball Harry for the first time?" This is a fair question, but it doesn't matter. All that matters is our plan.**


	10. 10 10 10!

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews, gang, even though its starting to seem like only two of you review. That's ok, we kinda think about loving you, but then we don't cause we've never actually met and there's a good chance you're underage. This chapter is unique because it opens up with "Chapter the Tenth." You may have not noticed but none of our other chapters opened that way. **

**Chapter the Tenth—Three Heads Are Better Than a Kitty**

Through a series of intricate academic wheelings and dealings, Harry was made Seeker of the Quidditch team. You do not need to hear the details of these transactions. Harry's teacher in this new sport was Oliver Biggerstaff, the fifth-year captain of the quidditch team. Oliver was a burly Scotsman, with a hilarious accent, thicker than the fog that rolled over the moors from whence he emerged. "Ach!" he said. "So ya want ta learrrrn hew to play quidditch, do ya?"

" I was told I want to learn," Harry said with an innocent grin.

"Aye. I was like yoo once. Let me give ya some advice: wear a magic rubber. Sure, she looks pretty now, but wait till she turns thirteen, and her field goes sallow, like a shark doll's eyes..."

"I don't understand. Is this how quidditch is played?"

Harry followed Biggerstaff out onto the quidditch pitch, each of them was holding one handle of a large box.

"My bed back home was about this size," said Harry.

Oliver laughed, "Don' werry, laddie, this'll put soom 'air on yer' peaches."

"I've never had fresh fruit before."

They put the box on the ground in the middle of the field. Oliver opened the box and inside were three balls, the one in the center being slightly larger. There was also a small case with the Hogwarts logo embellished in gold, in which Harry had hoped was a "good boy" treat.

"Now," declared Biggerstaff, "This big one is called the Quaffle!"

"Why?" asked Harry.

"Ha! Aye was like yoo wonce. Alway askin' questions." Oliver disregarded the question, "You take the quaffle, and the Chasers try to get it into one of thoos three hooooooooooops!" Oliver gestured to the mismatched hoops at each end of the pitch.

"Why are they at different heights?" Harry asked.

"Ha! It's a mystery!" Oliver bounced the ball once off of Harry's noggin and put it back in the box.

"Why'd you do that?"

"Ha! It's a mystery!" Oliver reached into the box and took out a small, heavy baton. He handed it to Harry and said, "You better take this."

Harry took it and was instantaneously infused with power. "Take that Uncle Vernon!" he said, swiping at the imaginary foe's gelatinous kneecaps. "NEVER AGAIN!"

Oliver caught the bat. "Easy there, idiot! Now pay attention." He gestured to the inside of the box, where Harry saw two very black balls struggling to be released from their harnesses. Harry caught the sounds of indistinct yet woefully racist remarks emanating from the balls. "These are bludgers. They're joost . . . Well, 'ave yoo ever felt that so happy that even your best dreams fall short?"

"Once after making friends with a spider," said H to the P.

"Well these are the opposite o' that feelin. A horrid combination of Despair, Hate, and Sexual Frustration aimed to shite all over your day."

"My spider's name was Snickers . . ."

"Anywho! Let's release one an' see what 'appens!" With that, Oliver undid the restraining straps and released a bludger into the air. It circled and darted about, like a vengeful ballerina bereft of music. But soon it spotted an innocent passerby (a second-year by the name of Plucky Doswell), and made a beeline towards the unfortunate pedestrian. It knocked into the boy and then knocked into him again, and again and again . . . and then it waited for him to get up and then it knocked him down again. When all movement ceased . . . it kept going.

Looking from afar, Harry said to his compatriot, "That looks pretty painful."

Oliver laughed a deep belly laugh. "The survivors envy the dead! C'mon, let's go check it oot!"

While the bludger was tackling the boy, Oliver tackled the bludger. He wrestled with it, eventually strapping it back into its highly inadequate prison. "Haggis!" the offending ball shouted before being shut away until it got the chance to kill once again.

Harry knelt by the broken boy. "Are you alright?" he asked stupidly.

The boy grasped Harry's hand in his bloody one. "Tell . . . Johnny . . . ," the boy croaked out through a throat full of blood, "tell him I . . . I love…" He spluttered blood all over Harry's nice robes like a sprinkler filled with rusty water, and then expired. Then he voided his bowels.

Harry checked himself to make sure he wasn't the one who voided. "Tell Johnny you love what?" Harry asked. "You love soup? I love soup too."

"Leave him, lad," Oliver said, leading Harry away. "He's better this way . . ."

"He's clearly not."

As they departed, a flock of birds descended onto the body. It was a good day to be a crow.

The last ball that Harry was exposed to that day was a small golden one Oliver had pulled out of the golden seal in the box. "The only ball," Oliver said, "I want yoo to worry aboot is this—the Golden Snitch."

"Snatch?"

"Snitch!"

"Oh." Harry took the ball in his hand. He liked its smoothness, its weight, its fluttery wing thingies. "I like this ball. It's not actively hostile."

"Ah you like it now! But just wait. It's wicked fast and impossible to see. You won't like it when you have to go elbow deep up an elk's ass to retrieve it!"

"I guess I won't," he said chirpily.

"This Snitch is worth 150 points. You catch this, the game is over and you win."

"Then why are other players needed on this team?"

"Ha! I was like yoo once! But there's no 'I' in quidditch, Harry!"

Harry, being illiterate, did not realize there are actually two 'I''s in "quidditch. Not being able to spell is a real bummer. With that, the boys picked up their equipment and headed to the castle, wherein they found they were locked out.

After finding an open window to the girl's bathroom, the two boys ran to their dorms, Harry taking with him what he thoughts were a bunch of tootsi-rolls. He said the password and was greeted by Ron.

"Why are you holding so many vag-rags?" asked Ron.

"I don't know. Want a tootsi-roll?" Harry held out the hand clutching the cotton dam.

Ron smacked Harry's hand free, "That Tit Malfoy challenged me to a game of 'Don't Touch the Lava!'"

"That sounds fun," said Harry.

"A Weasley never backs down from a challenge! Unless it's really scary. Or we think we'll lose. Or there are girls watching."

"Well I'll be watching and judging the whole thing. Every inch of it. Staring without speaking. Laughing probably," interrupted Hermione.

"Goodie!" yelled Harry, "It'll be like a slumber party!"

"Well I'm glad you're excited, cause you're gonna be my second," Ron patted Harry on the shoulder who in turn learned into the touch of another human. "Don't touch me."

The three Gryffindors made their way to the third floor where Draco said, quote, "I'll totally be there by myself, alone, and present. Not a trap. Not a trap. Bring your friends cause it's so untrappy." However, when they looked around for a few minutes, all they found was a cat. Not just any cat, this cat was Mrs. Norris, Mr. Filch's kitty, recently escaped from Kitty Citty. The cat had terrible red eyes, and a terrible red heart which could not comprehend love.

"It's Filch's kitty!" Ron said, pointing at the felonious feline.

"We'll get in trouble here!" Hermione said. "We're not supposed to be on the third floor!"

"I hope Draco is okay," Harry opined.

Ron grabbed Harry by the cloak collar. "IT WAS A TRAP, YOU FOOL! His fleet was waiting on the far side of the moon!"

"You talk good."

Hermione grabbed them both. "Let's get out of here!" They ran, always pursued by the kitty, always tripping over their cloaks. The soft paws of the cat made a pittering sound on the stone floor as it gave chase. In the minds of our three heroes, this sound was a dirge. Harry didn't know what a dirge was, but he really had to tinkle, so he ran like a dripping wind. At the end of the hallway, there was one neglected door. Neglected by whom? None could say (though it was probably that shiftless groundskeeper).

"In here!" Hermione yelled, tugging on the door. "Locked!"

Harry stepped forward. "I'll handle this." Harry proceeded to bang on the door and yell loudly. "If I yell loud enough, Uncle Vernon opens the door to beat me; but if you're quick enough you can run between his legs."

"What happens if you're not quick?" Ron asked.

"Don't be not quick."

"Step aside, ladies!" Hermione said, recovering her smugness and withdrawing her wand from her pocket. "_Alohamora!" _she said, and the door unlocked. The three rushed in through the door and slammed it in the face of a kitty who was just doing her job.

"Good work, _MIONE!" _said Ronald.

"Does anyone think that that's too much power for any one person to possess?" asked Harry.

"Standard book of _I deliver a message_;_ c_hapter _Shut it!_" said Hermione, flicking Harry on the nose.

It was at this point they became aware of a large, angry, three headed doggy sitting atop a trap door. The three heads were talking. Yes, talking. Each head had an opinion all their own regarding life.

"I'm telling you," spake the first head, "the only way to gain knowledge is through empirical data! The mind is a _Tabula Rasa_!"

"No! No! Idiot! Truth comes from reasoning! The senses lie!"

The third head, by far the most esoteric of the trio, yelled, "Have you even read Kant, you cunts?! We can only know phenomenal reality, never nouminal reality!"

The first head bit at the others, "If I can see it, feel it, smell it, then who the hell are you to say I'm wrong?!"

"Hey!" the third head said, "Do you guys see those three kids in the room with us?"

"I don't know," the second head mocked, "_are _they really there or do you just _perceive _them to be there?"

"Well why you don't _reason them _into existence then?!"

"Let's just eat them now," the first one said, "and argue about whether they existed later!"

By this point, the kids were gone, screaming down the hall, thoughts of the dangerous kitty long since put from their minds.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione made it back to the common room. And after they changed into their jammies, they were ready to come to terms with the Greek horror they had come across. "I bet Hercules wouldn't have run away!" Ron said.

"Next time give him a ring," Hermione said, holding a cup of coffee with literally the hair of the dog in it. "You don't use your eyes do you, Ronald, you blockhead? Did you see what it was standing on?"

"The floor!" Harry said, clapping for himself.

"A trap door! It's guarding something!"

"I guard my food when I'm eating."

"We've all heard your growls," said Ron. "But what could that dog be guarding?"

"I don't know," Hermione said.

"If I had to guard something," Harry suggested, "and I had access to a seemingly limitless supply of power in the form of magic, I would create a pocket-dimension that exists between this world and another far more terrible one, and hide it there!" Harry hugged his knees to his chest and began rolling around on the floor, singing "I'm a Caterpillar!" all the while.

Fred and George, having come down to get a stiff one, viewed the scene for a moment. "I've made cum stains brighter than him," Fred said.

"I can corroborate!" George said. Then they both went back to dreamland (with Mr. Bubbles).

"Since I'm not an idiot, I'll be the designated thinker for our team." said Hermione. With that she went to bed.

Ron collected Harry from the floor, brought him up the stairs to their beds, and laid him down for a dreamful sleep. Ron then went to bed, too.

**A/N: It may surprise some of you, but for the next chapter we're going to try something different and open it up with, "Chapter the Eleventh." I know this might upset some people, but . . . get over it.**

**Read and Review.**

**Or don't.**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Sorry for the late update, but at the same time I'm not that sorry. Enjoy the readingssssssss.**

**Chapter The Eleventh—Time to Hit and Quidditch It**

Even though Harry lived in a world of boundless magical possibilities, he still found that Quidditch was pretty much the cat's pj's for an eleven-year-old boy. This afternoon would be Harry's first Quidditch match, and he and the other Gryffindors would be going up against the perfidious Slytherin team.

"You may have to ride one of the school brooms," Ron said. "They're basically flying death kindling." He took hold of Harry roughly by the shoulders. "FLYING—DEATH—KINDLING!"

Harry smiled. "Ron, I like when you yell at me because of the attention. But could you not yell at me?" he asked, doe-eyed.

Hermione looked up from her book. "You won't have to worry about anything, Harry. I did some research and found out that your father was also a Seeker for Gryffindor. It's in your blood."

"Was he any good?" Harry asked.

"The records were a little fuzzy on that point...But the Slytherin records say that he was a 'total wanker who couldn't find a Snitch if it crawled up his own ass. Also he liked to put the Snitch up his ass.' I can't confirm the veracity of these statements, but-"

An owl hit Hermione in the head. "Good girl, Hedwig," Ron said, giving the owl a dead rodent as a prize. Ron looked to the large, broom-shaped object the bird had carried. "It's either a broom, or a mop. And in this world, you can ride both. The mop has better traction, good for snowstorms, but the broom has POWER!"

"Ron, you're scaring me," Harry said. "Let's open it!"

Clutching her bruised head, Hermione said, "Maybe you should check who its from before you open it. It could be filled with explosive anthrax."

Harry still couldn't read, so he gave the note on the package to Ron.

"It says, 'To Harry Potter, From . . . '"

"Well?"

"It doesn't say. There's just a picture of a smiley face."

"Well I trust that guy," said Harry, who then tore into the paper with abandon. He looked at the polished wood handle, the golden inlaid letters, the tightly wound faggot (it means "bundle of sticks!") at the end. Harry looked at it with wonder in his eyes, and in his groin; wonder only ever matched once before when he was mistakenly given a slice of pizza at a birthday party he wasn't invited to.

"That's a Nimbus 2000!" Ron yelled, slobbering over the faggot. "Let me touch it!"

"Stay back!" Harry hit Ron on the wrist with the business end of the broom. "This Broom. . . It sings my name. I can feel it. I mean with more than just my hands. I understand it." Harry then began sweeping the floor with it, "Yes aunt Petunia. Right away." he muttered in a dream state.

"It's not that kind of broom!" Ron yelled.

'_MIONE _saw something from the corner of her eye, "I think Professor McGonagal is trying to get your attention."

The two boys looked to where Hermione looked, and saw the older lady waving her arms, and winking, like a freak. "I wonder who could have accessed your bank account and bought that for you," she yelled across the great hall, "Bet it wasn't me! Though I would lose!"

"Do think she ever regrets not having kids?" asked Ron.

"I don't." said '_MIONE._

Another professor soon stepped into view of our heroes. It was Prof Snape.

"Wakey, wakey, eggs and Snapey," he drolled, "Good luck today, Potter. I'm sure you won't need it. Having already killed an endangered species of Troll."

"Thank you!" said Harry.

"Is that a Nimbus 1999?" asked the potions master.

"Get with the times, wanker! It's a 2000!" yelled Ron, in a sudden fit of douchey courage.

"Ten points from Gryffindor for your hubris."

"I'm glad you got that tooth out of your leg, sir." said Harry.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Snape then left, each step limpier than the last.

Hermione furrowed her brow. "You ever think that Professor Snape is somewhat evil?"

"Now that you mention it," Ron said, "he _does _seem kinda evil..."

"Good and evil are just perspectives," Harry said, cuddling with his new broom. "But that tooth in his leg did look remarkably and gigantically canine."

Soon after, Harry and the rest of the Quidditch team made their way to the locker room to change. Harry was nervous, sweating through his crimson robes as though they were tissue paper. "Watch it!" Oliver Biggerstaff said as the team lined up for their entrance. "Those rooobes are made of tissue paper!"

"It's November," a shivering Harry said.

"Nervous Harry? I was like yoo once...but then I wasn'." Oliver considered a moment. "Let me give yoo some advice: don' trrrust any of yer teammates out there! It's a free-fer-all!" Biggerstaff gestured to the rest of Harry's teammates: the Chasers, Alicia, Katie, and Angelina, were putting brass knuckles on underneath their gloves; Fred and George were wrapping barbed wire around their beater clubs. "I bring the sound," George said, waving his club at Harry.

"I bring the fury," Fred answered, smiling.

A whistle blew from outside, and the Gryffindors were in flight. Harry got a little nervous when he realized the whole school would be watching, many of them waiting (and in fact wishing) for his demise. The Gryffindor and Slytherin teams met in the center of the pitch, hovering a little above the ground. Opposite Harry, the Slytherin Seeker ran his thumb along his throat. Harry waved jubilantly back at him.

Madame Hooch walked into the center, on the ground between Biggerstaff and the Slytherin captain, who looked like a mangy dog atop a broom. "Let's have a good match," she said, "and try and give the fans something to cheer for." Her eyes were bloodshot and lazy looking. She tossed up the Quaffle and released the Bludgers and the Snitch.

And thus the battle was joined. Between the cheering of the crowd, the commanding shouts of Biggerstaff, and the racist remarks of the Bludgers, Harry was finding it rather hard to concentrate on a small, yellow golfball with wings, flying around a mega stadium. And yet it was a beautiful day outside. Then a Slytherin Beater whacked him somethin' fierce upside the bum.

"After I'm done with you they're gonna have to change your name from The Boy Who Didn't Die to the Boy Who Didn't Die, Then, After Eleven Years, Did Die!" yelled the Slytherin lad who had hit Harry.

"You hit my rump, chump!" Harry yelled back.

Fred and George, acting as though controlled by a single brain, close-lined the hell out of that poor Slytherin bastard.

Angelina slowed down as she passed Harry, "Get your head in the game, Potter! We're losing 70 to zero! Also, Biggerstaff is unconscious!"

"I'm not supposed to talk to strangers!" Harry returned.

Suddenly, Harry's broom began to buck and grind in the worst of ways, like a horse that was fed up with its enslavement. Harry fell from his seat, which wasn't so bad cause it wasn't very comfortable, and now he was hanging on as best he could. He realized that falling, and painting the ground with his own blood would be even more uncomfortable.

From the stands, Ron and Hermione were watching Harry's struggle through oculars (a remarkably unmagical item). "What's going on?" Hermione asked.

"'Is broom's gone out of control!" Hagrid, who got odd, askance glances for sitting with the students, yelled.

Ron could barely watch. "I told him not to drink all that cough syrup before the match!"

Hermione moved the oculars to gaze at the teachers' stands. Hermione spotted Snape, who, somehow unbeknownst to all, was thoroughly engaged in some sort of voodoo dance.

"I think Snape is cursing the broom!" Hermione said.

Hagrid was skeptical. "Maybe he's performing a counter-curse..."

"Shut up, you jolly green half-giant!"

"What should we do?" Ron asked stupidly.

"Hagrid," Hermione said, "make yourself useful and toss me over to those bleachers!"

Hagrid did as he was bid, saying "I can, I can!" as he did so. Hermione sailed over the stadium, stretching out her robes to glide even further.

Professor Sprout, noticing the girl sailing towards them at an alarming speed, yelled to Dumbledore, "Look out!"

"Don't tell me how to live, _Mom_," he replied. "I'll love who I want to love!"

Now Hermioioioione was close enough to Snape that she could hear his chant, "Ade dui dembala. Give me the power I beg of you!" Then she crashed into him.

Dumbledore could see the entire spectacle, much more interesting than the students fighting for their lives in the field. _MIONE _and Snape fell off the bleachers and began accelerating towards the ground at a deadly rate. "Somebody do something!" yelled the headmaster. He then looked around to see if anyone would, "I guess I'll do something, then," and he saved them both with magic.

Harry's broom subsided, and he was able to remount. By then, most of the other team had been beaten beyond the point of active participation. At that moment, a small glimmer of gold caught Harry's eye. It was the Snitch, hiding in the shade of one of the stadium towers! Harry, as discreetly as he could, flew on a super-broom to the Snitch. "Hello!" he said.

The Snitch, who had a surprisingly deep bass voice, answered, " 'Sup."

"I didn't know you could talk."

"No one ever speaks to me. Sometimes even I forget."

"That's sad. I'm sad. We should be buddies."

The Snitch, though it didn't have a mouth, seemed to smile. "That doesn't sound so sad."

"You're right! By the way, would it bother you much if I captured you for just a second? It would really mean a lot to my team."

"You're one selfless cat."

"I like cats, except when they give me ouchies."

"Kid, you got a heart of gold!"

"And you got a body of gold!"

They shared a laugh. And thus it was that Harry caught the Golden Snitch and returned it triumphantly to the center of the Quidditch pitch. Cheers erupted from the stands. Madame Hooch congratulated Harry, then said, "Alright everyone, clear out! Katie lost one of her eyes. If we find it in a hurry we can still put it back!"

Harry was at this moment hoisted on the shoulders of the Gryffindor fans who had rushed the field (and some of the Hufflepuffs, who were just happy to be there). It was the greatest moment of Harry's life, despite One-Eyed Katie yelling, "Careful! You'll step on it!"

They never did find that eye.

Some say it's gone forever; others say it's forever lost. Either way, they're synonyms.

**A/N: Ol' Bob released a terrible gastrointestinal discharge. It undid me momentarily. But now I am back, and very grumpy. Hope you enjoyed that chapter. **


	12. Too cool for 12

**Chapter the Twelfth – **

**There Ain't No Party Like a Hagrid Hut Party, Because a Hagrid Hut Party Is the Only One**

"Nonsense!" Hagrid bellowed over the small tub of whiskey that he was soaking in, "Why would Snapey want to curse 'Arry's broom?"

"Cause he's a jerk!" yelled Ron.

"He doesn't seem to like me very much," Harry concurred. "For reasons I may not discover until my sixth or seventh year . . . probably."

Hermione cocked an eyebrow. "You really think you're going to last that long? You're swinging from the low branches of the intellectual tree."

"I like swinging."

"'Ere's a good boy," Hagrid said, fondly tapping Harry on the head with his whiskey ladle, and then using it to drink from his bath. "Professor Snape can' have done that! 'Es a Hogwarts teacher!"

"Hogwarts teacher or not," Hermione said, "I know a voodoo dance when I see one. And that was the voodooiest dance I've ever seen!"

"I wonder how he was able to dance so well with that bite wound he had," said Harry dreamily.

Hagrid sat up in the tub, exposing to children his mangy, unkempt happy trail. "What bite wound?"

"The one he got from that three-headed dog thingy," Ron said.

"It's called a Cerberus, you mook," Hermione said.

_"How did you three find out about Fluffy?!" _Hagrid asked.

"That _thing _has a name?" Hermione asked. "A dumb name?!"

"'Course he has a name, he's mine. Even you had a name when you were jus' a dumb brat. I won 'im in a game o' Russian Roulette."

"I like games!" Harry chimed. "How do you play?"

"For keeps." Hagrid drank another ladle of whiskey.

"Why did you bring Fluffy here?" Ron asked.

"Dumbledore asked me to so's we can protect the Sorcerer's-" Hagrid caught himself. "No more questions! The good student takes notes an' keeps his mouth shut!"

"But Hagrid," Hermione said, "If Snape is trying to get something that Fluffy is guarding, you'll need to let Dumbledore know-"

"Enough! You kooky kids are meddlin' in things that ought not ter be meddled in. What that dog is guardin' is between Dumbledore and Nicholas Flamel." Hagrid's eyes widened: he had revealed too much. Then he stood up in the tub and revealed too much. "I shouldn' a' told ya that! Everyone get out! I have ter towel off, and believe me it ain' pretty!"

Hagrid ushered the children out of his house and slammed the door. "Nicholas Flamel," Harry said. "Who's that? I think I have a flamel shirt."

"That's _flannel_, jackass," Hermione said. "I don't know who Nicholas Flamel is, which leads me to believe he doesn't exist! But on the off chance I'm wrong, we'll need to do some serious reading to find out who this guy is."

"Reading?!" Ron groaned. "Can't we just let the bad people win?!"

"Ron!" Harry suddenly said, "If not us, then who? Who, Ron?! The UN?! What have they ever done for the working man?! War is an industry just like any other! Battles are just workers killing other workers! It's time we put an end to it!"

"End to what?" Hermione said.

"All of it!" Harry screamed so loud even the narrator got excited!

Hermione sighed. "I'm going to the library. You clowns meet me there later. Try not to starve in the meantime." She walked away.

That reminded Harry of how hungry he was. He and Ron went to Great Hall for Sushi Sunday (Harry didn't care for sushi, but he did care for sweet, sweet protein).

# # #

It was that time of year when Christmas rolls around like a steamroller of charity; you know, December. The whole school was alight with decorations and Christmas cheer, even though no one really celebrated Christmas (and a lot of Wizards were actually Jewish). There was an humongous tree in the Great Hall, a tree so big it took up the entirety of the Great Hall, forcing the children to dine in its branches, which wasn't so bad except it hadn't been sprayed for feral pigeons, and balancing plates became a chore. Beneath the tree, the ghosts gathered and cheered as Abe Lincoln held Louie in a choke hold with one arm, and used the other to make the former king punch himself, "Why ya monarching yourself?" Abe said repeatedly while Louie let out the most petite little "ow," the world had ever not heard.

Up high in the designated Gryffindor branches sat Harry and Ron, a chess board between them, balanced on the heads of four pigeons.

Harry asked his friend, "Why are we playing this?"

"Cause it's fun," said Ron, "Knight to E4." Ron's Knight skewered Harry's humble Bishop (two days away from retirement) like a whale.

"Fun for you, maybe," said Harry, as he gathered the broken pieces of his Bishop ("Who will feed my dog now?" the little stone Bishop whispered before all light left his eyes). "I can't even eat the pieces I lose."

"You could, if you really wanted to . . . I wouldn't, though."

A tiny hand suddenly grasped the branch our two heroes rested on, "It's okay. I don't need help." came the labored voice of Hermione.

"We didn't offer." said Ron without looking at the poor girl.

Hermione made her way up to a sitting position, toting behind her a carry-on luggage bag. "I'm going home for Christmas!" she said as though it would ruin their day.

Ron smiled. "That's the best Christmas gift I've ever gotten."

"Ron and I are staying here," Harry said.

"Yeah, my family does a lottery every year because they can't feed all of us at home-"

"Or stand you," Hermione interjected.

"-and I drew the short straw this year."

"Great! You two can still look in the library over break!"

Ron threw his hands in the air as if caring were no longer an issue. "You've looked a hundred times! And we've been playing Wizard Chess the whole time and laughing at you! The answer's not in the library!"

Hermione smiled a sly smile. "We haven't looked in the Restricted Section..."

Harry was puzzled. "Why does a school even have that? Shouldn't all knowledge be open to the students?"

"My Queen just sodomized your Rook with her scepter," Ron said.

Hermione looked in horror at the board. "That's totally barbaric."

"Yep," Ron said.

"Anyway, I'm off to ski with my family, wherein I am much loved. Will you two please do something while I'm gone?"

As Hermione descended, Harry shouted down to her, "Point of order! I'm still not super at the whole reading thing! I don't understand silent letters! What's the point? It's like needing a two-thirds majority to pass a bill!"

"I hear that!" Abraham Lincoln shouted while giving Louis a noogie. "Damn those Articles of Confederation!"

After playing several more games of Wizard Chess, Ron and Harry decided to do "something" as Hermione suggested. That "something" was take a little nip nap paddiewhack.

After they woke up from a tight twelve hour rest, it was Christmas morning. But it was only one AM, and Harry and Ron were wide awake. They decided to see if they had any presents waiting for them under the tree in the Common Room. When the descended the steps, they saw a large man, dressed in red, stuck in the window, trying his hardest to escape.

"You're jolly ol' saint Nick!" yelled Ron.

"Well, I'm saint Nick, anyway." The man took a swig from a small hip flask. "Now do me a solid and push me out the window."

The two boys did as they were instructed, and shoved Santa through the window. He fell for a moment, and both Harry and Ron thought that this might be the end for Father Christmas, but then it wasn't. He had landed safely on one of his reindeer. The animal struggled, but eventually lifted into the air.

"Only got one left, now. The others were hit by a truck last year." Santa said. He then pulled out a small whip, and began hitting the animal, "On Prancer. On Prancer. On Prancer." He repeated into the night, "Only a million more stops before you have my permission to die."

Harry looked on sympathetically at the beast of burden, feeling a slight kinship with it.

"Presents!" yelled Ronald McWeasley. Ron tore into several packages with his name on them. For Christmas he received an ugly sweater from his mum, which had stitched into it a picture of a cat saying "Can I has cheeburger?" ("Why do people think this is funny?" he asked before throwing it into the fire.). From his brother's Fred and George, he received another sweater: only the letters stitched into this one were the words "I'm with" and then an arrow pointing to his crotch.

"I don't get it," Harry said.

"No, I think they're the ones who don't 'Get It'." Ron laughed to himself. Harry still didn't get it.

Harry was surprised, and suffered a cute little stroke when he found out that he, too, had gifts. One was a gift from Ron's mother, an identical sweater to the one Ron himself had received (though Harry would never have dreamed of incinerating it, and in fact, hugged it to his body as though it were a new friend). From the Dursley's, Harry received a fresh pack of cigarettes, with a nice note that read "Why not get a head start?" Harry shrugged and put a cigarette in his mouth, but Ron smacked it out.

"Don't you know those things will kill you faster than a killing curse?!" Ron asked.

"That seems unlikely, but I take your point." There was a pause. "You were making a point, right?"

"Hey! Looks like you have another gift!"

Harry went under the small tree and pulled out a poorly-wrapped gift. He read the card on top:

"Your father gave this to me right before he got married and stopped being cool. It's high time it stopped collecting dust as my duvet. Rock on.

Yours,

Dumble- Mysterious Stranger"

Harry unwrapped the gift to reveal a garish cape. He wrapped it around his shoulders and suddenly his shoulders and all things below became imperceptible!

"That's an Invisibility Cloak!" Ron shouted. "Also known as 'Pervert's Delight'!"

Harry, because he could not see where his feet touched the ground, was freaking out a little bit. "AAAAAAHHHHHH! This is a nightmare!"

"No! NO! Your feet are there!"

"I'M JUST A HEAD! WHERE'S MY BODY?!"

"It's right where you left it, it's just invisible."

Harry calmed down. "Oh." He covered his entire body. "It's really warm in here."

"Even better," Ron said, "This will be really useful to do that thing to move the story forward." Ron then looked at you, Reader, and a chill ran up your spine.

**A/N: Uuum. Neither Ol' Bob or myself wrote that last sentence. It just suddenly was. . . Have a nice day!**


	13. Chapter Friday the 13th

**A/N: Save yourselves some mullah and go see the original version of Robocop instead of the new one.**

**Chapter The Thirteenth – In Which Our Heroes Get Learned and Snape Bullies Someone Smaller Than Him; Also a Mirror**

Harry and Ron, both cleverly hunkered under the already-sweaty Invisibility Cloak, made their way through the library's darkened doors. The entrance to the forbidden Restricted Section was barred by bars of a secure variety. Harry reached for the handle, and after a firm twist that yielded no motion, the gate, which had no hinges, fell over. Ron shrugged. "Elf labor," he said. The boys proceeded.

The night was pitch-black, but Ron carried a lantern underneath the Cloak (fun fact: Invisibility Cloaks are spacious to the extreme, and good for stealing elephants). Ron, commenting on the size of the Cloak, said, "This reminds me of my brief stint in the Hungarian circus..."

"Ron," Harry asked, "...Do you think stars dream?"

"Alls I's knows is your hands are really sweaty. Let go of me."

Soon the duo were moving in between gigantic shelves of occult books, books with titles hard to read, and also a few copies of Nietzsche's _Der Antichrist_. Harry reached an arm out from under the Cloak and began perusing the books. "Why is _Huck-Huckleberry Finn _here?" he asked.

"Because it uses the N-word...a lot."

"Nice?"

"Sure, kid."

Harry, using his ever-sharpening reading abilities, wound his way through the stacks looking for any book on Nicholas Flamel. "I found the _Kama Sutra_!" Harry exclaimed.

"We won't need that yet," Ron said. "Stash it for later."

Finally, after minutes of searching, Harry thought he had found the right book, which was entitled _No One Gets Me: An Artist's Journey_. When Harry opened the book, a face appeared in the pages and let out a bloodcurdling scream. _"RRREEEEEEEAAAAAAAADDDD MEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"_

Harry slammed the book shut, but not before uttering quietly, "I understand your pain."

"Someone's coming!" Ron whisper-shouted. "Let's get out of here!" In his haste (and stupidity), Ron dropped the lantern and it smashed on the floor. The two got back under the Cloak and scurried off like mighty cockroaches, hoping against realistic hope that whoever was coming would not find and/or cornhole them.

They made it outside the library. Just when they thought the threat of cornholing was behind them (trick statement; the threat of getting cornholed is always behind you), they heard the voice of Snape saying, "I will not hesitate to cornhole you until you are dead..." Ron and Harry stopped in their tracks and peered around the corner. Snape was holding Quirrel up against the wall. Quirrel's feet were dangling off of the ground; Snape appeared to have a grip the likes Randy "Macho Man" Savage, or Sergeant Slaughter.

"S—Severus...I—I..." Quirrel stuttered.

"I've got my eye on you, Quirrel. My eye on your brown eye! Wakarimaska?" said the potions master.

"I d-don't know what th-th-th-that means!"

Another voice began whispering. It seemed to be coming from Quirrel's turban, "Tell him he's being a bully!"

Snape's was momentarily confused. "Are you calling me a bully?" he asked.

Quirrel began vigorously shaking his head, but the turban said, "Yes we- I mean, _I _am!"

"I'm no bully! Oh, you are getting such a swirley for that!" Snape began shaking Quirrel harder, like a newly born infant.

In the meantime, Harry let out the quietest, smelliest _toot _Ron had ever smelled. Ron started gagging. He didn't want to, but the unctuous odor was too much, even for a boy who, basically, grew up in a giant old shoe.

Professor Snape's nose suddenly began working the air in overtime, "Was that you?" he asked Quirrel.

"N-n-n-n-n-n-n-n-n-n-"

"Are you saying it was me?!"

Filch suddenly came around the corner with his cat, "Did you guys smell that gnarly fart just now?" he almost yelled, "Mrs Norris nearly had kittens . . . again. Also, I found this," he held up the lantern that Ron had broken, "It's blackest night for someone out there."

Snape let Quirrel fall to the ground. Snape whispered in his ear, accidentally sexily, "No evil shall escape my sight, Quirrel." Snape then made a V with his pointer and middle fingers, and gestured back and forth between his and Quirrel's eyes.

"Man, that guy's such a bully!" came the mysterious voice again.

Snape turned, probably to strike the other teacher, but Quirrel was already running, not unlike a pansy, down the hall. Snape and Filch went to search the library.

Harry and Ron, desperate to get anywhere where they could come out from under the cloak (which Ron suspected had begun to grow mold), tried the first door they found and went inside. They found themselves in a room, the only item therein appeared to be a large mirror.

Harry and Ron came out from under the Cloak. "Man!" Ron said, breathing in the air of the free. "That was rank! What do you eat?"

"Whatever I can get my hands on," Harry said. He had become intrigued by the large mirror. "This mirror really makes the room look bigger." He moved closer to it, noticing that the glass was fogged and that the writing above the glass read "If Found, Please Lose Again." When Harry gazed into the mirror, he saw two figures emerge from its shadowy neverwhere. The figures became clearer, and soon he was staring at a man and a woman who looked slightly like him, only older and well-fed, and happier. Somewhere deep inside his mind's heart, Harry seemed to recognize these people. The man looked stern and regal with his messy hair and glasses, while the woman had a condescending smile as well as Harry's green eyes.

"Wow! If you two had a boy child he would look like me!" said Harry to the mirror.

The woman looked at the man, "Is he serious?" she asked.

The man looked at Harry, "You gay?"

"Why does everyone keep asking me that?"

"Who are you talking to, Harry?" asked Ron.

"The people in the mirror," he responded.

The woman in the mirror wagged a finger at Harry. "I don't like you hanging out with that Hermione girl. She seems like _a little hussy_."

"Better to deal with a hussy than be gay!" the man said.

"James!"

"What?!"

"Hey!" Harry said. "My dad's name was James! He's in a bear's tummy, or dust now. I forget which."

"Surprise, kid. He's me," the man said.

Harry considered. "You don't look like dust."

The woman smiled kindly. "We are your parents, you little dolt."

Harry was speechless. He let out a fart of surprise.

"Merlin's scrote, Harry!" Ron exclaimed. "Change your diet!"

"Ron, come meet my parents. They live in the mirror now!"

Ron moved to stand beside Harry. "Who's this little queer?" James asked. "Is this your bum chum?"

Harry was ecstatic. "He's my best chum, Dad!"

Ron was peering into the glass. "Who are you talking to?!"

"My parents! Can't you see them?"

"No. I can only see me, with my parents. I'm an only child. All my brothers, and Ginny, were shat on by a Ridgetail! We got tons of money from the insurance! We live like god kings! . . . But mom makes me sleep in a wig at night. Calls me her special little girl. . . I don't like this mirror anymore." Ron then picked up a rock to hurl at the reflective glass.

Harry arrested Ron's destruction of the mirror. "No! I want to see more of my parents!" Harry cried.

"You'll see them again when you're dead! Or so I have read!"

"Quit it!"

"Why is everyone yelling?" a soft voice from behind them said. "Hogwarts is a happy place, with good feelings for everyone." Emerging from the rear of the room was Professor Dumbledore, eyes twinkling (even in the darkness) and robes on backwards.

"Professor Dumbledore!" the boys exclaimed.

"What are you doing here?" Ron asked.

"Am I not supposed to be here?" Dumbledore responded. "Oh! Then I guess I'll leave." Dumbledore began making his way towards the door.

"Wait!" Harry said. "We have questions to ask at you!"

Dumbledore turned back around, his robes billowing just a bit too much, giving Ron a clean look at his dirty parts, "You're asking at the right person. I know all there is to know, except some things," he said mysteriously.

"What's the purpose of the mirror?" Ron asked.

"I dunno. You can see yourself in em. They make the room look bigger."

"I mean specifically _this_ mirror."

"Oh! You mean _this _mirror! Well. There's a long story behind this mirror. And I don't wanna tell it. It's all written on the back."

Ron ran behind the mirror to see.

"I can't read any of this!" he shouted.

"Neither can I," said Dumbledore, "It's written in the ancient tongue, and I only took Intro to Eldritch studies at community wizard college. Can you guess what this mirror does? I'll give you a clue in the form of the answer. It shows you your heart's penultimate desire; I say penultimate because the mirror shows you your deepest desire but in a situation that you find uncomfortable. You, Ronald, as way of a for instance, want to be an only child because you're greedy and kind of a pushover. So the mirror shows you alone with your parents, but your mother has gone crazy, and makes you pretend you are a little girl. Betcha didn't see that one coming, did you, chum? And you, Harry, you've dreamed about seeing your real parents for as long you can remember. But instead of getting that perfect fantasy version of your parents, the mirror shows you how your parents actually were: kinda jerky, and just a smidge bigoted." He looked at the boys sternly. "This mirror gives us neither knowledge, truth, nor entertainment, really. People have stared into it so long that they became really cranky, _and even peevish_. That is why it will be moved to a new secret location...right to the other side of that door." Dumbledore gestured to the door labeled "Magical Custodial Closet." "And I must ask you boys"-he laid an ominous hand on each of their shoulders, with ominous lace adorning equally ominous fingers-"to help me move it right now!"

The two eleven year olds then helped the aged man move a 200 pound (90.91 kilograms) mirror.

"My back really hurts," Harry said.

"Work through the pain! And lift with your neck!" yelled Dumbledore, whose biceps were looking severely cut.

The three were able to move the mirror into the closet, though Ron was almost trapped in there forever. The young lads were sweaty.

Harry rung out his robes, and asked, "Professor, what did the mirror show you?"

Dumbledore looked whimsically into the distance. He saw a hawk eat a squirrel. "I see myself, very svelte and pretty, adroit even. But still I can't make the gymnastics team." He sighed. "Oh well. Who wants to have a slumber party?!"

"I do!" Ron and Harry shouted together.

The three had a great time in Dumbledore's office. Trading stories into the wee hours of the nacht, and eating their fill of za.

**A/N: Leave a review. Be the review.**


	14. No silly names for 14

**Chapter the Fourteenth- Pizza Hangover, Accompanied by Some Plot**

Winter break (break me off a piece of that winter break!) was over. Her_Mione _had returned, and spread herself like a wet blanket over a happy picnic. One day not long after the resumption of class, Hermione came up to Harry and Ron in the library. The two boys were hiding from her as she was a terrible metatron to their dark, comfortable ignorance. "You had me making you look in the wrong section, idiots!" she said, slamming a large tome down on the desk in front of them. "I checked this out _weeks _ago because I'm smarter than you."

"Or lonelier," Ron said, taking a swig of his pumpkin juice (which he snuck in, dweeb) and fingered the pages of the book.

"Just listen." Hermione opened the book and flipped to what seemed to be, in a cinematic sense, the exact center of the book. Her finger ran down the page until it pointed to a section that was shaded ominously in bold. "Of course! I always knew the answer! This book just needed to remind me. Nicholas Flamel is the only known maker of the Sorcerer's Pet Rock!"

"You make thinking fun!" Harry said.

Ron blew a raspberry. "Pet Rock? That sounds like a terrible invention only idiots in America would buy into."

The ghost of Abraham Lincoln passed by at that moment and heartily flipped Ron off.

"Honestly," Hermione asked, "if you weren't my only friends-"

"You sure you want to make that confident of a statement? I'm not saying I hate you, but if you were choking, I'd probably save you, but I would think about it..."

"You're tearing this fragile family apart!" the sweet idiot Harry said.

"_Anyway_," Hermione said, "the Sorcerer's Pet Rock is magic-"

"_No way!_" Ron interrupted, his right hand raised, thumb and pinkie spread far apart, shaking furiously.

Hermione hexed Ron, sealing his mouth and anus (the latter was a side effect).

Snape passed by, saw what Hermione did, and said, "Nice shot. Five points to Gryffindor." Then he looked at Harry, who just rubbed him the wrong way. Harry foolishly made eye contact with the potions master, "Minus fifty points for your hubris though, Mr. Potter." Then Snape left.

"I can't wait to try this 'Hubris' everyone keeps talking about," said Harry.

"Good work, Harry," Hermione said. "The Sorcerer's Pet Rock is a magical stone that has the power to turn any substance into gold, with the exception of gold, which it turns into supergold." (Ron was going to say, "You don't wanna mess with that shizz", but his mouth was sealed so there was no longer a point to him making a phone call.) "The Stone also produce the Elixir of Life, which can allow you to live forever...or something. The tract gets vague at this point. Nicholas Flamel is the only known owner of such a stone. It seems to work, too, because he's over six-hundred years old."

Harry was agog. "His medical bills must be through the roof!"

"Nuh-uh. Everyone in England has universal healthcare." Hermione then fist-bumped the passing ghost of Clement Atlee (who, though dead, was still looking out for British interest, 'ee is guv'na). "This is probably what Snape is after! This is what Fluffy is guarding!"

"Wait," Harry said, "So Snape just wants to live forever...and/or wants a lot of gold?"

"Yes!"

"When you're immortal, do you still age? Because that would be awful."

"I'm not really-"

"And if you create too much gold, wouldn't you lower the market value?"

"Well-"

"And if you could just make an Elixir of Life, why not give it to the people?" Harry considered for a moment. "Well, then I guess overpopulation would become even more of a problem-"

Hermione crumpled up a piece of paper and threw it into the book stacks. "Go get it, Harry! Go get it!"

Harry bounded gleefully into the stacks, the stale winds of the library (trying) to run through his hair.

"Ron," Hermione said, "We should go see Hagrid tonight, tell him what we know."

There was only a pained and sweaty expression on Ron's face.

"You have to poo, don't you?" she asked.

Ron nodded urgently.

"Have you _earned_ that privilege yet?"

# # #

"It seems like we're never actually in any classes here." said Harry with a wandering look in his eye (maybe it was infected?).

"Shh! We're in the middle of a test!" said Ron in a panicked _sotto voce_.

Harry looked at the paper in front of him, and saw the hand turkey he had made in what can only be described as a Tyler Durden-esque haze. "Do you think, sometimes, that there are two people in your head, Ron?"

"Shut the hell up!"

The bony arms of Professor McGonagall wrapped around both Harry and Ron's shoulders. She looked between the papers in front of the two boys. "I see you've been copying Harry's work, Mr. Weasley."

Ron looked suddenly at his paper, noticing for the first time that there was a hand turkey adorning his test as well. "How did you do that, Harry?!"

Harry smiled at his bestest friend, "Gobble gobble!"

They both received low C's.

# # #

In Potions class.

The students were trying to concoct a mild Dance Potion that would make them look less like invalids on the dance floor. Ron and Harry's potions had turned a very unfunky brown, so they were copying Hermione's style, as her potion was a hip, with-it green.

"I don't need a formula for dancing," Dean Thomas said during class. "I got soul, not to mention I am also superbad."

"Quiet," Snape said. "You're only here because of _Brown vs Magical Board of Ed. _Now no more talking. I'm very tired. I got heckled at my poetry reading last night." Snape shuddered at the memory, then went back to crafting his own potion, a hefty batch of _Dream Deferred, _which is supposed to make the drinker a celebrated bard.

"I can't believe the only ones who came were my parents," he muttered whilst working.

# # #

"No! No don't put it there!" Professor Onan said. "You put it _there_!" Then he winked. Professor Onan had taken to winking during all the inappropriate moments of Magical Sex Education. Which was all of them.

"When are we ever gonna need this stuff?" Ron asked.

"I can't wait to go to Hagrid's tonight," Harry lamented.

# # #

At Hagrid's tonight.

The three snuck out of the Gryffindor Common Room under the Invisibility Cloak, which seemed to get roomier and roomier with each use. They made their way to Hagrid's hut and knocked loudly on the door.

Hagrid answered. "I'm having me-time now," he said to no one.

Harry removed the Invisibility Cloak, nearly giving the giant a massive (pun) coronary. "All time with you is me-time!" he said.

"Look, normally I would be happy to pretend to want you around, but tonight is not peachy for me." Hagrid said.

"We know about the Pet Rock!" the three children yelled simultaneously.

Hagrid's face became melancholy. "Right. I guess you better come in then."

Hagrid allowed the kids entrance to his home before drinking from his hip-flask, which was the size of an Albanian skull. "Now, tell me what you think you know so I can tell you what you really know." he said.

"Slow down!" Harry said, clutching his skull, "We've had class all day! As far as I can remember its only been the third day of class, but I'm expected to know all these things!"

"He's detracting. Also, he might be sick." Said Hermione.

"Lay some thick knowledge on 'em, _MYAWN!" _said Ronald.

"DON'T INTURRUPT ME!" she screamed. She composed herself like a lady, "We know the Rock is here, and we think professor Snape is trying to steal it!"

"Hogwash!" Hagrid said. "Professor Snape hid that rock in his ass for three years before it got to where it is! He's not about ter steal it."

Harry just started rocking in his chair and muttering, "Where did all the time go?!..."

"Alrigh', alrigh', I'm a little preoccupied tonight," Hagrid said. "Off with yas."

"Why? You got a dame comin' over?" Ron said, waggling his eyebrows (because he had just learned how to do that). Ron noticed the oven mitts on Hagrid's hands. "You gonna cook the dame? Are you making a dame-ish?"

Harry perked up at the sound of what might turn into food.

From the fireplace came a rattling sound. Hagrid went to the cauldron and juggled from it a large, egg-looking egg. He set it down on the table and watched it as one would watch the last episode of _Bufy the Muggle Slayer_.

The children gathered around the egg as thought it were about to spin a ripping good yarn. Harry was salivating. "You're drooling on my robes," said Hermione.

"Hagrid," Ron asked, "is that what I think it is?"

"It is if you think it's a dragon's egg," Hagrid replied.

"But how did you get one?! They're ultra-illegal! Only space-pirates and sexromancers deal in them!"

"I got it from a nice guy at the pub who wouldn't show me his face. Said it was cuz' he was afflicted wif hyper gonad-dermatytis. Sounded like there may have been two people under that robe, actually..."

Then the egg began hatching. Pieces of the shell fell to the floor as—surprise, surprise—a dragon emerged. "Isn' he beautiful?" Hagrid asked.

"When do we eat it?" Harry queried.

"When I'm six feet under!" Hagrid roared. He tickled the small beast, "'Ello, Alduin."

"Alduin?" Hermione spoke, "Isn't that the world eater?"

"Its just a name. I'm gonna raise him on a diet of mice and traitors. When he's older he'll clean up Hogwarts for me!"

"This is the kind of talk that makes me think that maybe you've got a chamber somewhere, possible brimming with secrets." said Harry.

But Hagrid was ignoring him, instead playing with his new friend.

"_Yol-toor-shul!" _Lil' Alduin hiccuped, a ball of fire leaving his mouth and singeing Hagrid's beard.

Harry clapped like an inbred boy prince. "Do it again! Do it again! This time can we invite Malfoy in to come and watch?"

"What are you talking about?" Hermione asked.

"He's right outside the window. He looks chilly." Harry waved at the window, through which they now all saw the surprised and surprisingly douchy-looking Draco Malfoy. The blonde bastard, knowing the jig was up, let go of all jigs and took off.

"Crickety crike!" Ron exclaimed. "He's gonna snitch on us!"

"Let's make sure this Slytherin library book is returned in poor condition," Hermione said menacingly.

"...What?" Ron said.

"Get him!"

The three children ran after The Dracster.


	15. Lean 15

**A/N: Here contained is the next chappy-poo of our Harry Potter parody extravaganza! Its okay!**

**Chapter the Fifteenth: Young Goodman Potter**

"Let's brake his ankles when we get him!" Hermione shouted. The three young wizards were pursuing Malfoy back into the castle. They ran as fast as you can in a billowy robe, but all the children were kinda dumpy, and so were wheezing by the time they reentered the castle. It would do well for Hogwarts to institute a more stringent Phys. Ed. Program, just the opinion of your humble narrator.

"How's he so fast?!" Ron said, hunched over and catching his breath. "He sprints like a frightened gazelle!"

"I don't know," said Harry. "But it looks like Professor McGonagall caught him!" Harry pointed down the hall at the approaching figures of the Deputy Headmistress and the Dracster (with a big old mug o' smug). "Hi Professor! You caught Draco for us!"

"Good evening," Professor McGonagall said icily. It was clear she did not enjoy being woken up in nothing more than her frilly negligeé.

"Professor," began Hermione, "It was all their fault! They made me come with them!"

"You little Delilah!" Ron hissed.

"Come with me," McGonagall said and led the children to her office.

"Are we having a party?" Harry asked.

In McGonagall's office, Harry, Ron, and Hermione stood before an irate, seated McGonagall, who refused to close her legs. Draco stood safely out of the line of viewing. "Nothing, I repeat _nothing_, gives a student the right to walk about the school at night. Especially outside the school! And _absolutely nothing _gives students the right to talk to Hagrid! He's not allowed to have friends anymore!"

"Really?" Harry asked. "So should he give up that dragon he's been hiding in his house?"

McGonagall's eyes narrowed until she had the face of Robert DeNiro. "What dragon?"

Ron slapped his hand over Harry's mouth. "No, no professor, you got it all wrong," Ron said. "There's no real dragon, um, that's just what Hagrid calls his penis. He invited us over to see his penis. It's a trouser dragon!"

McGonagall considered. "How was it?"

"Worthy of the title 'dragon'!" Hermione chimed.

Harry had meanwhile begun licking Ron's palm to gain the sweet salty residue.

"That's pretty bad," McGonagall said. "But not as bad as having a real dragon. Hagrid will have to get a severe correcting later. As for you five, you will all receive detention tomorrow night."

Draco looked befuddled. "Excuse me, Professor," he said, "I must have misheard you. It sounded like you said 'the five' of us?"

"You heard me correctly, Mr. Malfoy. Honorable as your intentions were, you were also out of bed after hours. You will join your classmates in detention."

"I still only count four of us," Ron said.

"I still _only _can count to four," Harry said, displaying three fingers proudly.

McGonagall pointed to a spot behind the three. Neville Longbottom stood there in a daze. "Neville?!" Hermione shouted.

Neville shook his head suddenly, "Where am I?" he asked.

"Waist deep in kaka pudding," Miss McGonagall told him.

"The five of us are getting detention for walking around the school after lights out!" Yelled Draco, whose sneer had turned into a pouty-poo.

"I wasn't walking around on purpose! I was sleep walking! Its a very serious problem! I almost walked out an open window when I was seven!"

"I'll give you a serious problem!" Draco brandished his fist as though it were an actual threat. But his hands were very girly, even for pampered child's standards.

"If I gave special treatment to you," McGonagall said, "I'd have to give it to everyone. And that wouldn't be very fair, would it?"

"But -"

"WOULD IT?!"

"I miss my nematode," the sad sac said in a defeated voice.

# # #

The next night (for nothing worth recording happened on that day), the five unhappy students met Mr. Filch in the front of the Great Hall. He was smirking, and his cat, Mrs. Norris, was also smirking. Why was Mrs. Norris a Mrs.? Who was she married to? Is her husband still alive? If not, how does she feel about him now? Do you think she's dating again? Do you think she writes erotic fiction in her spare time to cope with her loneliness? Do you think she'd be interested in a scruffy guy like me?

Filch guided the children outside. They were heading towards Hagrid's hut. "A pity they let the old punishments die," Filch said. "There was a time that detention meant you were hanged by your thumbs and sandblasted until all your skin fell off."

"How could our parents send us here?" Hermione asked.

"Good advertising. Also it's the only wizard school in the country. But they had to close down the Torture Department of Hogwarts when all the sand got caught in the school's air conditioning system. It was really annoying." The group reached Hagrid's hut and spied the man himself, weeping like a little bitch. Hagrid was loading a crossbow (dangerous to do with watery eyes) and making muffled sobbing noises. "Oh for God's sake," Filch said. "You're not still on about that bloody dragon are you, chubs?"

"What happened to Alduin?" asked Harry, "How'd they even find out about him?"

"Somebody told McGonagall about 'im, and some mean men came and took him away. If I ever find out who told they're going to get such a crossbowing!" Hagrid fired off a bolt into the sky for emphasis.

"You do that, Hagrid!" Harry yelled, "Don't let the Man keep you down!" The two high-fived.

"Well, they're all yours now," Filch said, and then began to walk off with his cat.

"Do you ever think that cat is a real person in disguise like the way McGonagall does it?" asked Ron.

"Shhh!" Hagrid onomatopoeia'd, "You're gonna want to keep your wits about ye in the forest."

"The forest!" cried Draco like a selfish baby turd, "I thought we would die horribly and painfully if we went in there?!"

"Distinctly possible," said Hagrid, "If you're lucky."

All the kids lined up behind Hagrid and pulled out their wands. "Your wands," Hagrid said, "You will not need 'em. Also, I'm takin' 'em. Besides, whatever you shoot at will just get angrier." With that, the cavalcade of woe entered the forest.

The Dark Forest was, as you might have accurately surmised, pretty dark. Every footfall over twigs sounded like the heated pursuit of someone who wants to do you wrong. The wind moaned like a really drunk Bruce Springsteen. Also, there was fog everywhere, and highbeams just made things worse. "Everyone should stick together," Hagrid said.

That was when Neville stepped into something squishy. "My galoshes!" Neville said, lifting his boot to reveal it was covered in a liquid that shined like the moon. Hagrid moved to Neville and licked the substance off of Neville's boot.

"What is that, Hagrid?" Hermione asked.

"Is it oyster sauce?" Harry asked. "I loves me some oyster sauce."

"That," Hagrid said, "is unicorn blood, that is. And a lot of it."

"I thought unicorns bled dreams and rainbows?" Neville asked.

"No, they poop those. They bleed this viscous crap. Last week I found another dead unicorn, mauled bad by somethin'. Sucked dry. Here's where you earn yer freedom: you five are gonna help me catch the creature that has been feeding off the unicorns."

"There are a lot of giant spiders around here." said Ron.

"Nah, they mostly eat red-heads," said Hagrid, "Alright! We'll split up into two groups."

"But you said we should stick together!" whined Draco.

"Just for that, you're going with 'Arry alone."

"Sweet!" yelled Harry, "It'll be like a bonding buddy trip! We never get to spend any time alone, Draco!"

"I know. I liked it that way," Draco turned to Hagrid, "Fine! But we get to take your dog Fang with us."

Hagrid nodded his head, "Deal, but just so you know, he's still at the hut, asleep probably."

Draco looked around at the people with him, noticing for the first time that there never was a dog with them.

"I don't know how this makes me feel." said Draco.

As Harry and Draco left the safety of the others, Harry asked, "Can I call you 'the Dracster'?"

"Yes you may. But no eye contact!"

"You got it, partner!" Harry clapped a hand on Draco's back, and then linked arms with him.

Harry and Draco walked around for an indeterminate amount of time. Time had little meaning in a place so dark. They spied some peculiar characters in the forest, none more so than the Man in Black, whose face none could see. The Man in Black asked if they'd like to sign their names in his book. Draco, always wanting to give out his autograph, complied; Harry declined, saying humbly, " R's are tricky."

Not long after that, there was another man in black, a different one! This man in black was engaged in ripping the horn off of a braying unicorn and stabbing the beautiful beast with its own protrusion until it died horribly.

"Do you think he wants our autograph, too?" Draco asked.

Harry was inclined to agree, but then the man bent down to the ground and began lapping up the silvery blood of the poor unicorn (whose name, in case you were wondering, was "Lucky"). "That's the bastard that Hagrid told us about! What do we do?!"

"We don't have wands!" Draco said.

"Try to make yourself look bigger!" Harry yelled, grabbing his robes and spreading them out like wings. "Maybe it'll frighten him!"

"He's not a mountain lion! That's a stupid idea! You're stupid!"

"It could be a bipedal mountain lion! I don't know much about the magical world, that could be a thing!"

"Gah! You're such a mental invalid!"

By now, the dark figure had floated towards the boys and was three feet away from them. It proceeded with the eerie grace of a corpsy ballerina. When the two boys finally noticed the figure, Draco screamed and pushed Harry down. Draco ran like a wind that had wet its pants.

"Wait, Dracster!" Harry yelled. "You left your best friend HP!"

As his image grew smaller and smaller in the distance, Draco said, "I can afford more friends!"

The ominous specter was almost on top of Harry. It extended one terrible hand towards the throat of the boy.

Harry extended his hand as if to shake the hand of the friend. "You'll be my friend, won't you, mister?"

Just then, a large creature bounded over Harry's head and collided with the aggressor. This new, strange beast appeared to be half man and half horse: horse part on top, man part on bottom. One of its cloven hands struck the dark figure upside the head. " Ah!" the man in black said. "You knocked my fillings out! My dentist is gonna be so peeved!" With that, the aggressor backed away from Harry, but not before the homoequine socked him another good one on the chest. "My sternum! Okay, okay, I'm leaving!" The man in black floated off like a kite loosed from its restraints.

The beast turned to Harry, revealing a large, soulful pair of horse eyes. "Harry Potter," it said.

"That's my name too!" Harry said.

"I am Gemellus, the reverse-centaur."

"I'm Harry Potter, the full human. We're half alike." Harry looked down. "We're wearing the same shoes."

"Only on our feet," Gemellus said, clapping his horseshoed forehands. "You must leave this place this place. It is not safe for you. You are known to many creatures here, like the were-tyrannosaurus."

"Do they want to be my friend, too?"

"Unlikely. Most of them would rather eat your insides and wear your skin like a suit."

"But not you, right?" asked the boy.

"I wouldn't fit."

"What was that thing you saved me from?"

"A dark thing, one that is less than man, more than beast, and just the right amount of sex machine. It drinks the blood of unicorns."

"I noticed. Why?"

"Drinking the blood of a unicorn will save you even if you are an inch from death. But it's a half-assed rescue, a cursed existence. Like being born with three nostrils or something."

"Yucky. Who would want that?"

"You know him as _Voldemort_. We know him as 'Dickburger', on account of this one time he put his dick in a hamburger. We bet him five galleons he wouldn't do it, but he showed us."

"But what is Voldemort doing here?"

"Do you know what is in the castle at this very moment, Mr. Potter?"

"Chairs, I guess. Lots of walls, too. And I'm in there, sometimes."

"I'm talking about the Sorcerer's Pet Rock."

There was silence between the two for a moment. Harry eventually worked up the courage to ask, "Can I ride you?"

"Well, I've already been banished from my people, so what do I have to lose?" Harry then hopped on top of the reverse centaur, and the two began running at the blinding speed of an average man, for the human legs aren't too quick.

# # #

When Harry left the forest, still atop the back of Gemellus, he saw Hagrid and the others standing around. It seems Hagrid was teaching them how to smoke like Huck Finn taught Tom Sawyer.

"No, you've got to inhale, Ronald."

Ron tried, but vomited.

"Oh, grow a pair." Hagrid then had a good laugh with Hermione, who was having no trouble with the cigarette because she's was perfect at just about everything.

Harry jumped off the back of his new friend, whose nose then began nudging Harry as though asking for sugar cubes.

Hagrid noticed Harry and Co., "There you are, 'Arry! I see you've met Gemellus. I know he looks smart, but 'ee's only got a brain the size of a walnut."

"Then, praytell, explain my speech, mongoloid?" Gemellus yelled, then he turned to Harry, "You're safe now, Harry. Relatively, I mean. Take care." Gemellus then walked back to the forest, stopping only once to let out a couple of chocolate nuggets from his human anus, which fell and hit Neville, who had been collecting roots to cure a nasty spider bite he received. Neville just sighed, used to the treatment by now.

Harry asked Hagrid, "Did you see my pal the Dracster anywhere?"

"Yeah, we saw him running off, crying. Thought he just needed some girl time, or something," Hagrid said casually. Then, Hermione ran up Hagrid's back, leapt off his shoulders, flipped around three times, and delivered the mightiest high-five ever recorded upon Hagrid's raised hand (or any other).

**A/N: A gold star to anyone of yous who understands where that title of this chapter comes from. Metaphorical gold stars, we're not made of money.**


	16. Sixteeny Tiny

**A/N: Here it is. The beginning of the end.**

**Chapter the Sixteenth: The Climaxamis Part One**

Once again, as though done by a convenient case of writer's foot, time passed indeterminably forward, and now it was Finals for young Harry Potter. Hermione had been preparing for months, and could now mental bench-press a freight train. Ron could hardly press a holiday ham. Harry ate the ham he was supposed to press. Ron refused to study because, quote, "Its all about who you know, not what you can do." Spoilers; he has to take summer wizard class.

The golden trio (now with rich nugget centers!) exited professor Onan's class in which they had just finish a rather unsexy final exam. It wasn't really an exam, however, it was more like several games of VD bingo. In the long run nobody wins.

"Whew!" Ron said. "Glad that those are finally done with! I can't believe I got the symptoms of gonorrhea..."

"I can't believe my thingy is gonna have to go into a lady's hoo-ha," Harry said, distraught.

"I can't believe that someone's thingy is gonna go inside _my _delicate lady temple," Hermione added. She shook her head and muttered, "Meat stick..."

The three turned a corner, whereupon they saw Snape making chummy with Hagrid (who was having trouble staying on his feet). "So," Snape asked, notebook in hand, "If, say, someone, I don't know who, wanted to –I'm just spitballing here—get past your three-headed philosopher dog, what would he (or she, but probably it's a he) have to do?"

"Well, I'll tell ya," Hagrid mumbled, in mostly incoherent syllables until something halfway intelligible about "music" came out.

Snape scribbled. "Wow, that is soooooo interesting. Thanks, chum. Cool story."

Hagrid went in for a high give, but leaned over too far and fell over on top of Snape. Hagrid fell asleep.

"A potion broke in my pocket!" Snape said breathlessly, unable to move. "A shrinking potion! It spilled on my crotch! Nooooooooo!..."

"He's trying to get the Pet Rock!" _MIONE _whispered to her two friends(?), "We have to tell Dumbledore!"

Hermione and Harry quickly left the scene. Ron lingered a moment, then stood over Snape.

"You there. Boy. Go fetch help," said Snape.

"Wow," said Ron, "Looks like you're stuck between a Hagrid and a hard place."

"Its getting hard to breath." whispered the potions master.

"Don't worry. Ron'll take good care of you." Ron then arranged some loose shrubs that happened to be nearby around the two men on the ground so as the average passerby wouldn't be able to see them.

In a last ditch strain of voice, Snape yelled out, "I have killed men for less!" but Ron was already gone. Snape's lungs couldn't yell anymore.

Ron was able to catch up to his buddies right before the walked into professor McGonagall's office. The old lady was grading papers like-a like-a sex machine that got off on grading papers. She was interrupted by the Golden trio kicking her door off its hinges.

"I just had those hinges waxed," McGonagall muttered to herself, "I guess you can come in!"

"We need to speak with professor InChargeMan!" yelled Harry, whose eyes then darted about.

"Well, I'm sorry. Professor Dumbledore was called away on urgent business. Actually, he wasn't called away, but he certainly left."

"Where'd he go?!" Hermione asked.

McGonagall sighed. "He received a letter in the post that said 'You may already be a winner!' He took off for London like a bat out of hell."

"But this is urgent!" Harry said. "We think Snape is trying to steal the Sorcerer's Pet Rock!"

McGonagall's eyes went wide. "How...how do you know such things? It's Hagrid, isn't it? Oh, he's going to get such a reckoning..."

"You're not listening," Ron exclaimed. "Snape is working for Voldemort! He's going to steal it tonight. It's game over if that happens, man! Game over! NO MORE GAME, MAN! AND WE LOST THE GAME!"

"You're spitting on me," McGonagall said as she wiped her glasses clean. "I assure you, the Rock is well protected. Don't you know that Snape had that thing up his ass for years?! We didn't ask him to do that; he volunteered! He could have replaced it with a gobstopper at any time but he didn't. Do you know why? _Because he's dedicated._ Now get out of here before I turn you three into a real golden trio and sell you off to students piece by piece."

Defeated, the three left her office. Harry, Ron, and Hermione confirmed their belief that they could not leave Snape to his own devices. They resolved to follow him and catch him red-handed. Later in the afternoon, the three hatched a brilliant scheme: they would construct cardboard trees, hide behind them, and follow Snape like any well-paid sleuth. Though the trees were crudely formed—and crayons were the only thing they were colored with—Hermione deemed their work "unquestionably perfect."

"Why can't we just use the Invisibility Cloak," Ron asked from behind his fir.

"Well," Hermione said, whispering through papier-mache pine needles, "we spent over two hours making these! I'm not just gonna throw them away now."

"What are you three talking about?" Snape asked, dropping his newspaper. "Why are you making scenery in the teacher's bathroom? Are you rehearsing the final act of _Macbeth?_"

"I think he spotted us!" Ron said.

"Stay in character!" Harry said from behind his blue-colored tree.

"A guy comes in here to sit on the can for some quality me-time, and he can't even get off a good squeeze because a bunch of kids are talking!" Snape lamented.

"So you admit it!" Harry said, jumping out from behind his tree.

"Admit to what? Pooping? Oh no, you caught me!"

Hermione considered. "I advise a tactical retreat." She threw down a smoke bomb and commanded everyone to leave.

When the smoke cleared, Harry was still standing their with his blue tree. "I used to poop in a bucket," Harry said.

"Great story," Snape said, looking back into his newspaper.

#

Our three heroes, their first plan having failed to the utmost degree, decided to wait by the entrance to Fluffy's lair in order to catch Snape as he entered. Before they could go there, Harry decided to stop off at the common room to pick up a guitar, just in case they had to put the beast to sleep themselves. By the time they made it there it was dark.

Harry picked up his guitar.

"Where did you get that?" asked Hermione. Harry shrugged.

They began to walk back towards the portrait door when Neville stepped out in front of them.

"You guys are sneaking out again, aren't you?" asked the dumpy lad.

"Mind your beeswax, Assbottom!" yelled Ron.

"You're going to get everyone in trouble again! I won't let you do it! I'll fight you if I have to!" Neville raised both his fists up to chin level in a stance that looked surprisingly seasoned.

Hermione stepped in front of the two boys who she called friend, "Neville," she began, slowly taking her wand from her pocket so as not to be seen, "What we do is a greater thing than has ever been –."

That was when Neville knocked her block off with a mighty haymaker.

Hermione fell like a sack of magic potatoes. She clutched her nose, but blood still escaped from betwixt her fingers, "OOOOOOOWWWWW! You broke my noth!"

Harry turned to Neville with a crazy look in his twitching eye. "Neville, let's talk about this like civilized wizards. Ron! Make like a table!"

Ron did as he was bid, and Harry gave Neville a hefty shove. The rotund boy fell over and hit the back of his head on a nearby stool.

Ron got up. "He'll need a neck brace for that," he said.

"Ith too good for him," Hermione said, popping her nose back into place. Before the three left, Hermione delivered a swift kick to the unconscious Neville's ribs.

When they got to the door behind which Fluffy stood like an eternal guard, they could hear a harp softly playing a lullaby. "Snape's already been here!" Hermione said.

"That fat sack of Neville slowed us down!" Ron said. "C'mon! But quietly!"

They opened the door and discovered a Fluffy who had gone sleepy-bye. Carefully, they attempted to open the trap door in the floor. But one of Fluffy's paws was resting on it. As they tried to move it, the beast awakened, with a terrible yawn!

"What are you doing here?!" one head shouted.

"What are any f us doing here?" replied the second head.

"Shut up!" the third head shouted. "We haven't eaten in days! We're eating the hell out of these kids!"

"Hell is in us all..."

"AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH-"

"Quick!" Harry yelled. "You guys get down there! I'll distract it with my sweet guitar skills!"

"I've never seen you play that thing!" Hermione said, halfway through the trapdoor. "Where did you even get it?!-" Harry put a boot on her face and gently encouraged her to descend.

"Now, then," Harry began, cracking his knuckles like a cool guy.

"_Do you remember the time?_

_The time we spent together?_

_I can't help but think about it._

_Why did you leave me,_

_Baby?_

_OOOOOHOOOOH_

_I still love you!_

_Please come back to me!_

_I can change_

_I can change!_

_I'll make you breakfast,_

_and an honest woman."_

The dog was not impressed, or sleepy. Harry instead broke the guitar over one of Fluffy's noses, then bolted for the trap door. He made it through just as the beast bit down, taking a bit of Harry's cloak.

**A/N: When the end comes be ready or be deady.**


	17. The Time Has Come!

**A/N: Here's the moment none of us have been waiting for! The penultimate chapter! There will be tears, there will be laughter, there will be blood! It might even be yours!**

**Chapter the Seventeenth: The Climaximas part 2: The Hyper Climax!**

Harry landed on his fannie (the American kind not the British kind). He saw his buddy Ron, and also Hermione. The three had landed on a green pad of some kind.

"What the hell is this? Some kind green pad?" said Ron.

"No, idiot! It's a green pad!" yelled Her_Mione!_

"I said that!" Ron shouted back.

"I know, I'm just so used to you being so wrong!"

Harry was looking around. He looked upwards and saw what appeared to be very spiny teeth jutting from the plant. The teeth began moving closer to one another, as though the plant were some kind of trap, possibly from Venus—but we're not qualified to say. "Um, guys," Harry said. "Have either of you ever been eaten before?"

Ron went pale, but really just a lighter shade of red. "Holy Merlin's taint! We're in a Venus Mantrap! If it eats us now, we will know a new definition of pain and suffering as we are slowly digested over a thousand years."

"That's a long time," Harry said.

Hermione noticed the closing mouth. "It's closing remarkably slowly," she said.

"Let's just walk out."

And so they did. True, Ron did get his foot caught on a pistil, and had to be tugged free by a smug Hermione. But other than that, no problems. Actually, Harry felt like his sprained ankle was better (he had acquired it during a late-night wrestling match against Dean Thomas).

The three found a doorway and entered the adjacent room. In it, they discovered several keys flying about the room. There was also an old, unsanded broom, hovering a few feet from them. "Strange," Hermione said, "Those keys are flying, not a behavior one normally sees in keys."

"Maybe one of them opens that there door?" said Ron in a southern accent.

"Right," said Hermione confidently, her right fist slamming into her left palm, "I've got a plan. Harry will jump on that splintery broom, ignore the pain that comes with grabbing spikey wood, fly around, chase the correct key while the others, provoked into action by myself, chase _him, _at which point Harry will have led the key straight to Ron, who will open the door, followed by me, and then Harry will fly through the door at the last second, right before he is impaled by thousands of rusty keys!"

"Good idea, _Mione!" _Yelled the ginger.

"There's still a key in the door," Harry said casually, "I'm gonna see if it does the thing that makes the door open."

Harry turned the key, and the door opened easily.

The End

JK!...Rowling. LOLburgers. ;D)

The three prepubescent children walked into a new room. This one had a large raised, black and white checkered platform in the center. Ron studied the platform curiously: there were pieces on either side—some black, the better ones white (cause they go first). "It's a chess board!" he exclaimed. "Possibly a wizard's chess board!"

"What do we do?" Harry said. They tried to move past the white pieces to the next door, but were stopped by a row of very agitated pawns (who were mad because they were pawns, cannon fodder, meant to be used and used up).

"Hmmmmm," Ron considered. "I think we have to play to get across." He pointed at his best buddy. "Harry! You'll be a pawn."

"Ba-ba-ba boo ya!" Harry shouted. "Suck it, Hermione! I'm a pawn! That means one day I can become a queen!"

"Hermione, you'll be the queen."

Harry looked sad and undone. "Oh."

"As for me," Ron said, puffing up his chest. "I'll be the knight…mare!"

"I wanted to ride the horsey," Harry sulked before taking his position.

With the three in place, they watched the first white pawn move forward two spaces.

"Predictable," Ron scoffed. Ron then ordered the same move. The white pawn sized up its opponent, softly uttered a prayer, and katana'd the shit out of that black pawn.

"Snicker snack!" Harry yelled. "That was whack!"

Ron, undeterred, said, "Harry, you're up!"

The battle raged on, brother against brother, carnage the likes of which would have made the villain Carnage from _Spiderman! _say, "Whoa, back up, brah. We all need to cool our tool."

**Your authors would like to take this brief slopportunity to discuss an argument that has recently come between us. Ol' Bob is of the stupid opinion that Carnage was a better villain than Venom. True, point to Bob since Carnage was never ruined by the perfidious Topher Grace, but still he is wrong. Venom is way cooler. He wears black all the time, which is totally cool. You know who should have played Venom? Vin Diesel! That would have been stellar casting! Venom also came first, and Carnage is just a ginger underneath the sticky suit.**

**Counter Point by Ol' Bob:**

**Ol' Bob here! While I respect my opponent, I think he's a good man, but he is so full of shit it's stinking up his brain. Venom came first, sure, but Carnage was a serial killer **_**before **_**he became Carnage. How is that not wicked awesome?! Also, he was a better villain in the old arcade style games, where you could only move horizontally. Arcades were cool: what happened to them? Point being, we can all agree **_**Spiderman 3 **_**was a loss.**

**Counter counter point by Dirk Steadfast:**

**I would like to bring to your attention the fact that Ol' Bob smells like a fresh case of butt-burger. And that you could play as Venom in the original Marvel Vs Capcom, and that game was sweet!**

**Counter counter counter point by Ol' Bob:**

**I'm leaving you!**

**Now back to your regularly scheduled story.**

The game was over. Our three heroes had lost abysmally. Ron was unconscious, having been knocked off his high horse.

"Seriously!" shouted Hermione, "How do you lose both Rooks before they even move?!"

"Would you call it a _Rookie _mistake?" said Harry while popping an obnoxious grin.

"Shut it!" Hermione hurled the severed stone head of one of the former pieces at the main character.

"Let's just make a break for it!" she then shouted.

"What about Ron?" asked Harry.

"Forget Ralph! He made his bed, now he has to die in it!"

Harry and Hermione faked to the left, then juked to the right around the enemy queen. They made it safely through the door. On the other side was only a wooden table, on top of which was a series of vials, each filled with a colorful solution. Hermione inspected each vial. She found a small note and read it aloud: "One of these vials will allow you to pass safely through to the final chamber. The rest are poisonous and will put you down like a mad dog. I miss my dog. Love, Dumbledore."

Hermione gave Harry a vial filled with amber liquid. "Drink this," she commanded. She smelled the substance. "Smells like gasoline."

Harry did as he was instructed, "Yup. That's definitely gasoline."

"Why'd you drink all of it?!" Hermione yelled.

"It tasted _supreme," _Harry winked at the girl. Then both his eyes filled with blood, but he got all better after he belched a fireball.

Hermione analyzed the the potions on the table, taking note of any small detail that might help them through, "Well, this one has a lipstick smudge on it, so . . . maybe?"

"Good enough for _moi!" _Harry bellowed. He took up the glass container and drank every last drop.

Then he exploded.

The End

JK...Simmons. He's a great actor!

Harry did not explode, but his muscles bulged and he temporarily became Super-Harry. "None shall escape my wrath! Especially you, door!" Harry moved to the obstructing structure and tore it off its hinges as though he were tearing a child off of a merry-go-round. But just as he stepped through the doorway, another door appeared, blocking Hermione's entrance. Harry tried to remove this door, but found his muscles had returned to their floppy (yet somehow emaciated) origins. "Her_MYAWN_!" Harry screamed. "This isn't goodbye! But I have to go on without you!"

"You're useless on your own!" said Hermione, her voice muffled on the other side of the door.

"Go and get Ron. Send a message to Dumbledore! I have to stop Snape! Don't worry—I won't forget all you've taught me!"

"I haven't taught you anything! You read at a third-grade level!"

"If I don't make it back set Hedwig free! But not too free, otherwise she won't get anything done! And tell Neville that I'm sorry, but he really brought it upon himself. And tell the Dracster that I wish we had more time together! And tell Abe Lincoln that I'll have to take him up on his offer some other time! And tell Oliver I was never like him, I never will be! And tell the snitch that never has a man had a better friend than I had in him! And tell yourself to build a ladder to the stars! And tell Ron that I think his ten year old sister is kinda hot, but in a tasteful sort of way, not that magazine sort of way, you know?"

Hermione had left long ago, but that didn't stop Harry from going on for another few minutes.

Heartened by the encouragement of a friend who wasn't there, Harry descended down the stone steps, toward an unknown future. He slipped and fell on his keester.

He entered a small arena, rubbing his sore bottom. In the center of this stone place was the Mirror in which his parents had lived again. And standing beside it was _not _the person Harry was expecting! "You're not Professor Sourpuss!" Harry exclaimed. "You're Professor Not-Appearing-for-Most-of-the-Story!"

Indeed. Professor Quirrel turned to face Harry, a smile with no warmth spreading across his face. "Yes," he said, dragging the word out for a few seconds. "Snape does seem the type, doesn't he? But who would suspect"-Quirrel inclined both his thumbs towards his chest-"this guy!"

"I go to your class on Tuesday and Thursday," Harry said. "But sometimes I'm sick."

Quirrel was dumbfounded. "Uh—yeah that's true, kid. But did you know it was _I _who cursed your broom during the Quidditch match?! Snape was trying to save you with his voodoo dance!"

"Are we going to have homework over the summer?"

Quirrel clenched his fists and his teeth in frustration. "Pay attention! It was I who let the troll in on Halloween! I was going to come here then, but Snape, ever wily, figured out my plan and cut me off! He never trusted me again. He said he would cornhole me; and I believed him. He barely left me alone. But he doesn't understand. I'm never alone..." Quirrel stroked his turban (which quietly objected with, "Don't touch me!"). "Never..."

"How'd I do on my final?"

"You passed, _but you won't survive to see your GPA go up!_" Quirrel gazed into the Mirror with almost sexual longing. "I see what I desire. I see myself holding the Sorcerer's Pet Rock—but I'm getting boned by a big burly black guy."

"Maybe he's friends with my parents," Harry suggested.

"How do I get the rock?"

Suddenly, a voice from the nether-regions of man and god alike spoke with silky cunning. _"Use the boy."_

"Why?" Quirrel asked. "He's an idiot! He hasn't done anything this whole year-"

"_Up-bub-bup!"_ the voice chastised. _"The boy knows! He just doesn't _know _that he knows!"_

Quirrel crooked a finger at Harry. "Come here, boy!"

"Okey dokey," Harry said, taking his place beside Quirrel and holding out a hand to be held.

"I'm not gonna hold your hand," Quirrel said.

"Do you trust me?"

Quirrel buried his face in his palms. "Just look in the Mirror, kid."

Harry stared into the mirror, hoping his parents would reappear, perhaps with a pie. Instead, he saw a reflection of himself (this being the only mirror in the world where such a happenstance is a bit of a shock). The Mirror-Harry winked at Harry, who winked back because he thought he was supposed to do whatever the Mirror did.

"Wait. Did you just wink?" asked the mysterious turban voice.

"Blink?" said Harry.

"No. Wink!"

"Blink?"

Quirrel shouted, "He said Blink!"

"This is a fun game!" yelled Harry in a fit of joy.

"LOOK BACK AT THE MIRROR AND TELL ME WHAT YOU SEE!" the voice shouted.

"Wow. That was right in my ear," said Quirrel while placing a hand over his right hear-hole.

Harry stared back at the mirror version of himself. It was still winking at him, but the real Harry decided not to copy. MirrorHarry (who really should have had a goatee to distinguish himself) held in his hand a small rock; on it was painted a goofy face. He put said rock into one of his pants pockets. It then whispered, "You are like the light of the moon. Really its the sun's."

Harry suddenly felt the weight of his trousers increase. He was surprised, as any one of us would be, and wondered if perhaps he had accidentally made number two.

"What do you see?" asked the voice.

"Well," began Harry, "I see myself . . ." he trailed off.

"What else?!"

"Oh. I've got something in my pocket. I think its a rock–" Harry suddenly realized that he should maybe lie to the bad man, "et," he finished, "I think its a rocket. I've got a rocket in my pocket."

"He lies! He is pitching no tent!" the voice screamed.

"Seriously. Right in my ear," Quirrel muttered.

"Let me speak to him. Face to face to face," the voice said.

"But, master! . . . Good idea. This turban is getting hot."

Harry stepped back nervously as Quirrel unwound his head scarf. Underneath was an image too awful to describe. Here we go:

It was the face of a noseless man, with red eyes and pink, supple lips. He looked pretty good considering he was living on the back of someone else's head.

"Hello," Harry said.

"Do you know who I am?" the second face said.

Harry smiled and rubbed his thumb and forefinger together. "Maybe a few galleons would refresh my memory..."

Flabbergasted, the face shouted, "I'm Voldemort!"

Harry stared stupidly.

"I met you when you were a baby..._There was an incident..._I saw you in the forest just a few weeks ago! A horse punched me in the face!"

Quirrel shrugged. "I told you he was an idiot. I once asked him in class how he would deflect a curse-he told me he'd put on a shield of smiles! I didn't know how to answer!"

"Enough about your lonely life, Quirrel!" the face said. To Harry: "You have my name on your forehead. You defeated me once, and now I live like a parasite. A totally awesome parasite, but a parasite nonetheless. Unicorn blood can keep me alive, but it cannot give me my totally ripped bod back!" Quirrel sniggered at this. "What are you sniggering at, you 97-pound weakling! Anyway, there is something that can get my sweet bod back—something that conveniently enough, is in your trousers!"

Fire erupted around the group (for some reason, probably for the sake of the mood). Voldemort smiled. "If you give me the Rock, I can bring your parents back, with, you know, magic and stuff! We could be buddies! We could grab a brew together, HP!"

Harry fell in love with the nickname.

"Join me and I will complete your training! There is no good and evil, only power! Have you read Nietzsche?"

"I read okay," Harry said.

"That will part of your training, I guess! Together, we'll rule the world as Voldemort & Co! Whaddya say? Has we a deal?"

Harry was severely tempted. So tempted that he agreed.

"Sounds great, partner!" Harry exclaimed, thrusting his hand out for a hearty handshake. Voldemort smirked as the bright future unfurled before him like a roll of golden toilet paper. Quirrel extended his hand magnanimously and shook Harry's.

It was at this point that Quirrel's hand melted, like so many a-lying M & M (they totally do melt in your hand. You know it. I know it. Mars Candy Corporation knows it).

Quirrel, understandably, flipped a little bit. "Cheese and crackers!" he shrieked. "That's my writing hand!"

Voldemort eyeballed Harry. "You betrayed me! Why does everyone keep betraying me?!"

"I'm sorry!" Harry said. "Let me make it up to you!" Harry ran forward and hugged the shit out of Quirrel.

Quirrel's body began to evaporate. "No!" he yelled in agony. "Stop hugging! You're melting bone!"

"Nothing stops the Huggernaught!" Harry said, squeezing tighter around his unfortunate new friends.

Quirrel shriveled and shrank, an unlucky raisin in the game of grapes we call Life. At the end of it all Harry was holding naught but a set of bargain-bin robes, still sopping with Quirrel's effluence. Harry noticed that he was suddenly alone. This made him sad. Then he remembered that the stone he had could bring people back from the dead maybe. He touched the rock to the puddle of Quirrel. Nothing happened except a few bubbles escaped. Harry shrugged and began to walk away.

A dust suddenly came up from the ground. It took the shape of a ghostly man with Voldemort's face on it, looking really pissed. The effervescent body was pretty ripped. It charged at the boy.

"Engage shield of smiles!" yelled Harry, throwing his hands in front of him.

The ghost passed through Harry, knocking the boy over. It turned for another attack, but a small crack in the walls created a draft, and Voldeghost was sucked through. Harry passed out.

**A/N: Join us next time for the lastest of the last chapters of this story. This chapter is dedicated to Quirrel's three children, and his dog. Forever alone in the abyss. **

**Have fun out there, guys!**


	18. Its Legal Now

**A/N: Here be it. The final chapter. Don't cry for me, I'm already bread. Like Ahab chasing the Moby Dick, we've all learned a serious lesson about why we shouldn't chase white whales. They big. You little.**

**Chapter the Finultimate: It's Not Really Goodbye, But It Sure Sounds Like It**

Harry Potter woke up. He stared up at the ceiling. "Unfamiliar ceiling," he whispered sadly. Harry sat up in bed, aching in many places (some private) but otherwise unharmed. He looked around and realized he must be in the Hogwarts Hospital Wing—or, as he called it, the BooBoo-torium. A nurse in a silly hat was bustling about the room, folding sheets and putting none of her nurse training to use, when she realized Harry was awake.

"Well!" she said, coming over to Harry and sticking her wand in his mouth, presumably to take his temperature, but Harry could not know for sure. "Good to see you up! I'm Madame Pomfrey."

"I know," Harry garbled, still with a wand in his mouth. "You're the nice lady who told me to not to play with nails, or lick my wounds, even though doggies do it."

She squinted at him. "_Are _you a little doggy?!"

"I wish I was. Ruff ruff!"

"Well, in any case, you'll be better soon, as plucky as a patsy at a parade." She walked away shaking her head sadly, muttering, "Oh dear, oh dear..."

The curtain separating Harry's bed from the next bed was swooshed back. "Hiya, roommate!" said Dumbledore, eyes twinkling and eyebrow arched to a ridiculous degree.

"Professor Dumbledore!" Harry exclaimed. "You live here now, too?!"

Dumbledore leapt out of bed like a lithe gymnast. "I don't live anywhere! I live with the wind!" He did a jig, as though bursting at the seams with gooey gooey moxy.

"Did you win whatever that letter was promising you?"

Dumbledore's jig stopped abruptly. "Turned out to only be a timeshare in beautiful war-torn Uganda."

Harry tried to recall the events of the previous evening. "What happened to the dust bunny man?! And the Sorcerer's Pet Rock?!"

Dumbledore sat on Harry's bed. The crease he was making causing Harry to roll towards him; Dumbledore thought he was just being affectionate. "Well," Dumbledore said, "Professor Quirrel is still pretty melted. You really murdered him good! How does it feel, son? To take a life?"

Harry shrugged. "I feel hungry."

"For more murder?"

"No, just regular hungry."

"I see," Dumbledore said, disappointed. "But you also singlehandedly—with the help of your friends—saved the wizarding world from what would probably have been a very uncomfortable fate! Voldemort has been defeated! Again, by a child! Again!"

"So does that mean Voldemort can't come back?" Harry said, optimistically.

"Wrongo! In fact, it's even _easier _for him now! There are much simpler way to get your body back. I should have put the Pet Rock in my cane, like in that movie about the dinosaurs. Have you seen it? It's good. Fun fact: dinosaurs never existed: _they're _the myth!"

"But what happened to the Rock? And why didn't you just hide the Rock in a pile of similar looking rocks? Wouldn't it have been safer that way?"

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled once more, this time with cataracts instead of playful mischief. "You see, Harry, you found the Rock-"

"I didn't ask you how I found the Rock-"

"-because I enchanted the Rock so it could only be found by someone who didn't know what it was for. Never underestimate the brilliancy of idiocy!"

"So how did you get it in the Mirror?"

"There's a secret door in the back. Can I finish my damn monologue? Anyway, rest assured that the Rock has been destroyed. Nicholas Flamel—with whom I am really tight—agreed that the Rock was too powerful for one man, and that he thoroughly regrets making it and getting married. He gave me his word he would seriously consider not making any more." Dumbledore smiled softly. "Then he died."

"Oh," Harry said. "For the greater good, I guess?"

"Whatever. One last point needs to be made, Harry: are you curious as to why Quirrel melted like a pile of runny eggs when you touched him?"

"Not really. I kinda want to put it behind me..."

"YOU SEE, HARRY! Your mother died trying to save you from Voldemort when you were but an infant. Her love left a sticky, sticky residue of protection coating your entire body. And hair. Can you feel it, Harry?" Dumbledore leaned in until he touched noses with Harry. "Can you feel the love tonight?!"

Madame Pomfrey walked by. "It's mid-morning," she said.

Harry's mood lightened. "I've got a hunch'n for a brunch'n!"

"Is it really brunch already?!" Dumbledore yelled, disturbing the other patients. "I must go! The End-of-Term brunch begins in ten minutes! I hear they have mango sorbet!" (Dumbledore pronounced the "t"). Before he hustled out of the Hospital Wing, he nearly ran into Professor Snape, who was on the way in. "Watch it, Scarecrow!" Dumbledore said and departed.

Snape skulked his way over to Harry as though he had a wooden spine. "I brought you more homework to cheer you up," he said.

"School's over," Harry said, looking at the gargantuan pile of paperwork.

"I will not tolerate your excuses."

Harry considered for a moment, and decided to take a risk. "Professor, do stars dream?"

"Yes. Now I must be going." He began to walk away.

"Wait Professor Friend!" Harry called after him. "If you knew Quirrel was bad news, why didn't you tell anyone? You could've prevented this situation very early on in the year!"

Snape looked at his sand-glass wristwatch. "Oh, look at that! It's half past fifty points from Gryffindor! Do you know why, Mmmmmmister Potter?"

Harry hung his head. He muttered, "Because of my hubris..."

_"Because of your huuuuuuuuubris,"_ Snape said.

"One more question!"

"I am not a genie, Mr. Potter."

"But you _do _know magic! Anyway, I wanted to know why is it that you saved me from Quirrel's spell during the Quidditch match?"

Snape sucked in a breath, and, as was canon, he released that breath. "It certainly wasn't because I was in love with your mother or anything like that. Get that thought out of your head right now! I guess I just wanted to bust out some sweet dance moves. It seemed an opportune moment to do so." With that, the Potions Master exeunted.

#

Harry was released, like so many a-kraken, a scant fifteen minutes later. None of his wounds had been healed; all of his morale had been compromised. But he said he felt fine, and that was enough for Madame Pomfrey, who got her nursing degree online from Bitch'n Witches College and Feed Store.

Harry walked to the Great Hall, which was looking rather ungreat, what with all the Slytherin colors adorning the walls, and everything (even Harry's own robes had turned to Slytherin colors as he walked in). He spied Hermione and Ron and went over to give them a big ol' hug.

Hermione patted his head kindly. "I am not sad that you're not dead!" she said, and smiled.

Ron was fine. He gave Harry a manly fistbump.

Neville was in a neckbrace. "I should be mad at you guys," he said. "But I forgive, you. Though I shouldn't."

"Whatever," Hermione said, and spit in his mashed up bananas.

Dumbledore called the Hall to attention. "Another year gone. Where did it go, you ask? Nobody knows. Some say it exists in the fourth dimensional plain, where all time happens simultaneously. Others say the Langoliers ate it. Still others say that's all horseshit. And still others say, 'Screw you, I'm eating'. And now the House Cup needs awarding. In fourth place, Gryffindor with a pathetic forty-one points. In third place, Hufflepuff with no one cares! In second place, Ravenclaw with what are you people even doing?! And in first place, Slytherin with an almighty 6,213 points! Plus an additional thousand points for the Dracster because he paid me off!" The Dracster handed out innumerable high-fives to his classmates. Harry high-fived him in spirit. "Well done, Slytherin," said Dumbledore. "Well done in humiliating the other houses so completely. But recent events must be accounted for."

All the students began whispering to one another. A Hufflepuff student was heard saying, "I hope we win somehow, though I don't think we will."

"To Her_MYAWN _Granger. Never has there been a bigger know-it-all walking the halls of this school than you. But it turns out being smart is good for something after all. It was your sharp wit and also dumb luck that allowed Harry to drink the right potion. I award you seven points." There was halfhearted claps (except for Harry who gave it his all) from the Gryffindor table, "To Ronald Weasley. You played a board game, only with bigger pieces. To you I bequeath ten points. Cause you earned 'em." Ron dropped his head in his soup (soup at brunch?). "And to Harry Potter. For lethal friendliness and not knowing when to stop, I award you the sum of thirteen points. Don't spend it all in one place, tiger. But one more thing! It is wrong to betray your friends, especially if you're only doing it because you're afraid of getting in trouble, I mean, if you were under threat of death I could understand, but this! To Neville Longbottom! I unaward you sixteen gajillion points!"

The counter on the wall that read the total points for Gryffindor spun out of control. It exploded only to reform instantaneously. When it came back, the total points for Gryffindor read "Over Nine thousand!"

Dumbledor looked confusedly at the counter, "Gryffindor wins?" he said.

The Gryffindors erupted into a cheer that could only be described as an eruption of cheers. All the Gryffindors wanted to congratulate Neville. They hoisted him over their heads and then dumped him in a big bowl of punch. His neck brace rusted almost instantly.

Draco punched Goyle to make himself feel better, but it only made him feel worse. Goyle wondered why he whom he loved so much cared for him so little (he had The Gay for him).

As his house celebrated, Harry picked clean his and several others students' plates.

#

And so it happened that the Hogwarts Express pulled up to the school, ready to whisk away its juvenile carry-on. Although Ron and Hermione promised to write to Harry if he would just stop hugging them, Harry was sad. He would have to return to his dreadful life with the Durselys, who, if possible, had gotten fatter and meaner in the interval.

Harry carted his luggage and his bird to the train. Before he stepped onto the steel chariot that needed no horses, Hagrid stopped him. "Here's looking at you, kid," Hagrid said. He then began hitting the sauce profusely.

Harry hugged his giant friend. "I will miss you, Hagrid."

"By the way, if that cousin of yours, Dudley, gives you a hard time, remember: aim for the eyes. They are the windows to pain. And the soul. The soul is filled with pain. Now get on home."

Harry smiled, not understanding but not sad about not understanding. "I'm not going home. Not really...Though I am going home, really." With that, Harry boarded the train and it began to chug-a-lug out of the station.

"I almos' forgot!" Hagrid shouted. He pulled from his great coat a leatherbound photo album. "This is the only photo album containing any pictures anywhere of you and your parents! There are no copies! Keep it safe!" He chucked it at Harry's window. But Hagrid, unbalanced by liquor, threw the album far afield of his target. The album landed on the train tracks in front of the rapid train itself. It was run over and destroyed beyond even death.

"All the memories," Harry whispered as he watched his past get crushed by tons of steel. "At least I've got you, Hedwig," he said.

The bird shit on his hand.

The End

**A/N: We hope you've enjoyed this rendition of Garbage: The Musical. That's right, this was really a musical about refuse in disguise as a Harry Potter crapfest. If you're lucky, and we're feeling plucky, there may be a sequel entitled, Harry Potter Puts His Giant Serpent Into Your Chamber of Secretes. But until that day, wait for that day.**

**Don't touch our stuff,**

**Ol' Bob + Dirk Steadfast**


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